


Star T'Rex

by AKO, CountryDoctor, cowgirldressage1, PaintedBird2, pamdizzle, TLuminareth



Category: Jurassic Park (1993), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Humor, M/M, Mash-up, Not actually crack, Round Robin, Sorry Not Sorry, Vulcanblum (a cross between Jeff Goldblum's likeliness and a Vulcan), jungle sex, mannips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:26:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 48,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKO/pseuds/AKO, https://archiveofourown.org/users/CountryDoctor/pseuds/CountryDoctor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowgirldressage1/pseuds/cowgirldressage1, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintedBird2/pseuds/PaintedBird2, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pamdizzle/pseuds/pamdizzle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TLuminareth/pseuds/TLuminareth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On an emergent recreational planet, a new park has just been built with genetically engineered Terran dinosaurs. All is going well as the park prepares to open when tragedy strikes and one of its workers is killed by a velociraptor. The founder of the park, Cyrano Jones, requests the Enterprise and specifically its Captain and First Officer to come to the park and ensure that it is safe. Also joining them is Ambassador Fox, who is concerned now with the viability of Starfleet's latest investment. When they reach the planet, all of them amazed to discover that Jones has managed to create ACTUAL dinosaurs, but no one is without their doubts.</p><p>Hold onto your phasers, it's going to be a TOS/Jurassic Park Mash Up! Each participant will be adding a new chapter every Wednesday. I hope you all will give it a shot and enjoy the story. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Opening Credits

 

 

 

**Star T’Rex**

_A Round Robin Special Presentation_

A TOS/Jurassic Park Mash Up

Brought to you by (in order of appearance):

_Pamdizzle_

_Painted Bird_

_AKO_

_CountryDoctor_

_TLuminareth_

_Tpurr_

_IvyCross  
_

_Fugitive_

_CowgirlDressage_

_Cyberrat_

_Pintospirk_

_T’Nash’Veh_

_Mary Kay_

  
Art Throughout By:

  
_TLuminareth_

Technical Fairy:

  
_Wingstar_

 

**Please click next to begin the tale…**


	2. Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
>  
> 
> _By:  Pamdizzle_
> 
>  
> 
>  

 

Vulcans were not a violent people, no longer ruled by the same emotions to which their allies often succumbed. However, control was not the same as nonexistence. In this instance, illogically, S’eff felt keenly the emotion of fear as he corrected his hold on his tranquilizer gun. He inhaled deeply and allowed himself several seconds to accept the experience of the unwanted emotion within his mind, analyze his reaction to it, and then pushed it aside. He was the gamekeeper here, the leader of the men around him, and the fact that he was Vulcan was unquestionably the reason he held this position. A Vulcan was the only logical choice for an undertaking of this type, and Dr. Jones had been quite specific in his offer of employment. S’eff was expected to hold his composure, to think clearly in ‘stressful’ situations and to lead the men under his charge by example.

The leaves and vines of the terra formed tropical flora and trees shook and rattled as a large container, held aloft by a transport lift, pushed through their branches toward the loading zone of this region of the park. S’eff had spent a lot of time around the raptors. He’d watched them grow, analyzed their movements, ‘played’ with them even. Their capacity for problem solving was an… _unanticipated_ development. Of course, the prior studies of Terran prehistoric creatures were plentiful and detailed, having many hypotheses concerning the Velociraptor’s intelligence. The one factor they’d all had in common was the belief that it was unequivocally there. The degree to which, however, had been indeterminable due to the species’ extinction. Human scientists had been forced to settle upon drawing their conclusion based on the creatures’ remains.

Dr. Jones’ vision for a new recreation planet, however, had now changed all of that. S’eff himself, alongside several other scientists and researchers at the park, had established the truth and fallacies associated with every hypothesis regarding extinct prehistoric Terran dinosaurs. It was fascinating work to be a part of and yet…as a Vulcan, he could not help but sometimes wonder, even as he participated in the process and especially now as he watched the container lower, if the _ability_ to create was a valid enough reason to do so. He focused the whole of his attention once again upon the titanium container as it settled upon the rails with a resounding clank. It had started to rain, and he straightened his hat and cleared his dampened bangs from his forehead. When next he looked up, a sharp yellow iris held his gaze from behind a small, barred window.

S’eff paused, feeling yet another nagging emotion: foreboding. Vulcans did not adhere to the idea of intuition or instinct, but nor did they wallow in the pools of denial. He experienced a ‘bad feeling’ as the container and the raptor within were pushed into the entry way. They had done this over a dozen times, with every animal in the park including other raptors and so this ‘trepidation’ was an illogical response. The process would be exact: The container would slide forward, the door would be drawn up, the bin would then slide forward another half inch and connect to the entry way of the raptor territory. The door of the habitat would part and the animal would be guided into its new environment.

S’eff knew this and yet the feeling persisted, enhanced by the eerie, nervous stillness of the humans around him. Perhaps he had spent far too much time in the company of his emotional colleagues and too little in meditation. He gripped his gun and steeled himself. The container slid forward. Hodge and Smith climbed the side ladders to the top—routine, simple. Hodge and Smith lifted the doors. The container slid forward again…but then it stuttered, the rain-slickened tracks easing the container’s slip from the rails, flinging both men from its top. Everyone leapt into action at once, shouts of directions and coordination loud but muffled by the rain and thunder. S’eff sprinted forward as well, but slipped in the mud as Hodge fell to the ground just outside the space between the container and the habitat’s entrance. 

“Hodge!” He yelled to get the stunned man’s attention. The human flicked his eyes up and reached for S’eff’s hand, but was suddenly yanked from the Vulcan’s reach. S’eff leapt to his feet and ran toward the bin, where the human was fighting with all the upper body strength he possessed to avoid being completely pulled in. His cries of agony and fear were a tangible knife in the Vulcan’s gut as he wrapped his arms around the man’s shoulders and pulled.

“Shoot her!” S’eff yelled to his men, “Shoot her!” It was an illogical command. It was impossible to fire a tranquilizer through solid Titanium walls. It was too late, Hodge was…

Pulled from his arms and into the darkness of the bin. Before S’eff had the wherewithal to order it, the container was pushed back onto the rails and into place. Hodge’s cries had ceased, replaced with the sickening crunch and snap of flesh, and the feeling of trepidation which had settled in the Vulcan’s gut not but four point seven seconds previous was now an empty pit in the hollow of his stomach.

\--

                “Ambassador,” Kirk’s patience was failing fast, “I understand your position, but the Enterprise is not an insurance agency.”

                “Captain Kirk,” Ambassador Fox stiffly pursed his lips, “you have been specifically requested for this task and whether or not you agree with the premise of this mission, it _is_ you mission. You have already been reassigned and coordinates to Mr. Jones’ facilities have been relayed. As a Starfleet Officer, the investments of the Federation affect you directly. You _will_ inspect the planet’s recreational grounds and you _will_ do so cordially. Fox out.”

                “Well, that was pointless,” Jim sighed resignedly.

                “Captain?” Spock’s voice prevented Kirk from glowering too long at the blackened screen.

                Jim allowed himself a moment of visual indulgence as was more and more becoming a habit where his First Officer was concerned. He could see the wheels turning behind Spock’s deceivingly calm stare, and he wasn’t the only one. Bones, Lieutenant Sulu and Ensign Chekov were all looking at the resident Vulcan, their mouths turned up into knowing half-smiles. Spock was radiating excitement, despite the detached calm his collected veneer was attempting to convey. Jim grinned, his annoyance quickly abating, “Yes, Mr. Spock?”

                “Permission to accompany—”

                “Yes, yes,” Jim chuckled. “It is your duty, after all, as Science Officer isn’t it?”

                Spock straightened in his seat, and raised a defiant brow, his eyes pretending to scan the PADD containing their new mission brief, “Indeed.”

                McCoy chuckled, “What’s the matter, Spock? Could it be you’re _excited_ about our upcoming adventure into prehistoria?”

                “Intrigued, perhaps,” Spock stoically replied, refusing to so much as acknowledge the reference toward emotion.

                “What about you, Chekov?” Jim interrupted when he saw Bones open his mouth to push more of the Vulcan’s buttons. “You don’t seem very…” his eyes drifted toward his First and then back to the Ensign, “Intrigued.”

                Chekov folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, “It _is_ interesting but…I cannot see ze appeal in wisiting a bunch of rewived bird-lizards.”

                “But they’re dinosaurs,” Sulu turned to the Russian. “It would be like seeing a history book come to life...”

                “Yes, well,” Jim straightened in his seat, “I’m sure it will all be very entertaining. While we’re en route, I want everyone to brush up on their prehistoric trivia. Bones, contact the park’s people and ask if there are any inoculations we’ll need to undergo before beaming down. Mr. Spock, organize your science department and come up with a series of viability tests based on the schematics of the park and the genetic compositions of the reptiles—”

                “That will not be possible,” Spock interrupted.

                “What?” Jim did a double take, “Why not?”

                “The genetic sequences are the property of InGen and have not been released to the Federation,” Spock supplied.

                “Dr. Cyrano doesn’t want to risk losing his competitive advantage,” Sulu added, thoughtfully.

                “Precisely, Lieutenant,” Spock nodded.

                “Competitors?” McCoy asked skeptically. “Who’d compete over a thing like dino DNA?”

                “It is not the dinosaur’s DNA for which there is a demand, but rather that which was used to complete the sequence and allowed for Dr. Jones’ cloning success,” Spock informed. “Terran dinosaur DNA was discovered centuries ago, extracted from mosquitos encapsulated within fossilized tree resin.”

                “Amber,” Jim supplied for Chekov, who was looking at Spock as though the Vulcan were speaking in tongues.

                “Yes,” Spock continued. “However, the DNA sequences were incomplete, and all attempts to find a close enough match to complete these sequences have, until now, been a failure. It is postulated that Dr. Jones’ team of scientists used a non-Terran species to complete the code, but the question remains—which one?”

                “Don’t get me vrong, I understand ze desire to recreate animals long extinct…but vhy dinosaurs? Vhy now?” Chekov shrugged. “And a zeme park? It seems razzer gimmicky.”

                Jim chuckled at that, “Well, gimmick or no, I guess we’ll be the first to decide.”

                “I gotta tell ya, Jim,” Bones shook his head, “I don’t like this one bit. Toyin’ with nature. It’s bad enough they’ve already had one accident. They wanna bring people to this park from all over the galaxy to gawk and stare and make a mockery of nature—I’m tellin’ you it’s bad news. It’s unnatural, bringing back the dead—”

                “Cloning has been a practice among humans for four centuries, beginning with a sheep named Dolly,” Spock argued. “The process itself has nothing to do with raising the dead, but creating new life within a laboratory environment rather than a womb. Furthermore, Doctor, I must ask what is the difference between cloning a sheep and a dinosaur? Both are animals, neither are sentient. What difference is there, beyond scale, between cloning dinosaurs for use in a theme park and cloning sheep, pigs and horses for use in a petting zoo?”

                “What other difference than scale do you need?!” Bones barked back heatedly. “Sheep are fluffy, produce wool and eat grass, take up very little space—oh, and don’t have a taste for flesh and blood when hunger strikes!”

                “The facility utilizes all aspects of modern containment—”

                “Containment?!” Bones interjected, “They’re _dinosaurs!”_

                “Doctor McCoy has a point,” Sulu began, causing Spock to fix him with a double-raised brow. Usually, the two of them were in agreement in opposition of the doctor.

                “Gentlemen,” Kirk called the room to attention, “Let’s refrain from making any premature judgments and focus on the task at hand rather than the ethical implications of InGen's undertaking, not that it doesn’t bear discussion. Our orders are clear, the question defined: is the park safe, yes or no.” Kirk stood, “We’ll be entering orbit in three days. Dismissed.”

\--

                The space station above Denaris V was crowded as usual, but it was probably for the best. The last thing Gary needed was to be spotted talking to the CEO of BioSyn. It wouldn’t matter after next week, of course, but he didn’t need to get himself fired from InGen before he’d managed to slip off with a few samples of the company’s trade secret.

                “Mr. Mitchell,” his new employer addressed, “a pleasure to see you again.”

                “Lewis,” Gary smiled eagerly, “likewise. Have a seat. I just ordered lunch.”

                “Perfect,” Mr. Dodgson replied. “I trust the credits I forwarded to your Orion Trust account were received without issue?”

                “All two point five million of them,” Mitchell confirmed. He looked over the executive’s person, not seeing a bag and questioned, “You did bring the necessary tools for the operation, didn’t you? The upcoming inspection is my only clear—”

                “Of course, I brought it,” Dodgson reassured as he pulled a communicator from his pocket. “It’s the reason we had to meet in person, isn’t it? You can’t exactly replicate one of these.”

                “Perfect!” Gary clapped his hands together and rubbed his palms, “Show me how it works!”

                Dodgson smiled conspiratorially, “Alright, alright, but keep it down.” He picked up the communicator from the table and pressed a sleekly camouflaged button on the side. The back lifted up on tiny, hydraulic arms to reveal a mini cooling chamber inside.

                “Oh-ho, nice!” Gary chuckled, “Does it actually work?”

                In answer, Lewis closed the back and flipped it open, pressing the signal button. It chirped, and he spoke into its receiver, “Nichols, do you read me?”

                “Loud and clear, sir,” came the voice of the man’s assistant.

                “Impressive!” Gary snatched the communicator and turned it around in his hands.

                “Corporate Espionage is a lot more fun that Starfleet, isn’t it?”

                Gary chuckled derisively, “You’re damned right it is, and it definitely has more of a ring to it than Lead Computer Engineer.”

                “Good to hear,” Dodgson nodded, then was once again serious, “Now, remember, delivery time for the specimens is twenty-one hundred hours—”

                “That’s up to your transport pilot,” Mitchell interjected. “Tell him to be at the east loading dock at nineteen hundred hours. He does that, we’re all set.”

                The waiter arrived with their tab and Mitchell glared at it, “Don’t get cheap on me, Dodgson.”

                Lewis rolled his eyes and ran his card through the PADD. Mitchell nodded approvingly, “That was Cyrano’s mistake.”  
  
  



	3. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _By:  PaintedBird2_
> 
>  

Green and lush, Denaris V lay below them as the Enterprise dropped from warp.  While they had been en route, Spock had meticulously documented the history of the planet and the project for his captain, and they were having a final briefing as Sulu maneuvered the ship into a docking ring with the space station. 

“The work Mr. Jones has done here,” he concluded, “is quite brilliant.  Locating a planet with vegetation in a similar state to that of the Jurassic period on Earth was, in and of itself, quite extraordinary.  From the limited information he has shared, his staff have also found a way to reproduce flora necessary for the dinosaurs' health which has included forms of horsetails, cycadeoidphytes, and certain conifers.  That alone is quite complex without considering the work necessary to clone the dinosaurs.”

“Is there anything in particular we need to be on guard for, Mister Spock?”  Kirk's expression was affectionate as he enjoyed the enthusiasm his First Officer was bringing to the project.

Spock stared at the tabletop for a moment as he considered the question.  Finally, he answered, “Everything, Captain, everything.  While this is undoubtedly extraordinary work, we have absolutely no commonality with these species.  They were the masters of their world in their time, and they will not hesitate to act instinctively.”

Jim grinned crookedly.  “So you're saying that we should be careful not to get eaten?”

“Among other things.”  Spock's expression softened.

“Are your people prepared?”

Spock raised an eyebrow in response.  “You are aware that we have no specialists in this field, Captain, aboard the Enterprise.  I have an archeologist on standby, but this period of Earth's history is not her specialty, and my botanists have certainly been briefed on the mission but will remain aboard.  A starship is rarely required to study dinosaurs, and our involvement in this inspection must be a unique occurrence.  I shall extract samples as indicated and return them to the ship for study, and I have asked Doctor McCoy to accompany us to analyze the potential risks to humanoid health.”

“You are going yourself?”

The eyebrow again.  “Of the limited choices available, I would seem to be as acceptable as anyone else available.”

“And you want to see those dinosaurs, don't you?”  Kirk grinned teasingly.

A sparkle came to the normally stoic eyes.  “I must confess a certain degree of curiosity about Mr. Jones' work.”

“Then let's get to work.”

They met McCoy at the airlock leading to the station and made their circuitous route through the station to the beam down point where Ambassador Fox awaited them.  Access to the planet was tightly regulated, but there was no shield in place.  Even as invited guests, they all were required to check in and undergo a short briefing about their presence on the park. Kirk had little tolerance for this and was relieved when they were able to beam down finally to the verdant planet below.  Fox’s attitude toward the brief delay was even less pleasant.

The first thing that they saw was a large sign reading “In-Gen Construction.”  

Kirk's second impression was that they had beamed into a jungle.  The air was hot and thick with humidity, and only a slight breeze kept the temperature from being stifling. On the distant horizon, huge storm clouds indicated that the area was due for rain.

“Where is Mr. Jones?” he asked when no one was there to greet them.

“We are approximately nine point four minutes early.”  Spock's tricorder was already recording.  “Lower oxygen level than contemporary Earth,” he commented as he checked the readings, “which is in line with the mid-Jurassic period, but it should be sufficient for most healthy humans.  Carbon dioxide is in line with that needed for human norms.”

“Do you agree, Bones?”

The physician had been largely silent since they met at the airlock, and he scowled at the question.  “Just because it is roughly Earth norm standards doesn't make this place right, Jim.”

“What about the topography, Spock?”

“During the Jurassic period on Earth,” he reported, “the most significant geological occurrence was the breakup of Pangea, the supercontinent from which all current Earth continents originated.  This planet, however, appears to be geologically stable with shallow, warm oceans and a substantial land mass covered by them.  A good likeness to the topography of your planet during the Jurassic, Captain.”

McCoy remained silent, Kirk noted, and suspected it was more from his unhappiness about what had been done here than his interest in the geology of Denaris V.  He nodded to Spock, indicating that he should proceed.

“What about the vegetation?”

The tricorder whirled again.  “As I previously indicated, Captain, there is the presence of seed ferns, horsetails, ginkos, conifers, and cyads.  Typical Jurassic vegetation.”  Spock looked at him for acknowledgment.

“Anything harmful?”

“Unknown.  Many of these plants do not currently exist on Earth.  While there is no known risk to humans, ingestion of these substances could cause difficulty.  Only further research can make that determination.”

“Gather a few samples please,” Jim ordered, “and beam them to the ship while we wait on Mr. Jones.”

Obediently, Spock set about selecting samples from the nearby vegetation.  Ambassador Fox continued to express his displeasure at the delay, and Jim tried not to listen to him anymore than he must.  Spock had already beamed them back to the ship using their research clearance to do so before Cyrano Jones appeared.

Jones.  Cyrano Jones.  Kirk immediately recognized the man as a galactic trader that they had encountered before.  Of course, he had recognized the name, but he had assumed that it was a different individual with the same name.  How could Cyrano Jones, intergalactic trader of questionable integrity, have become Cyrano Jones, owner of planets?

“Cyrano Jones!” Kirk roared.  “What are you doing here?”

“Why, Captain Kirk, it is so good to see you again.  Welcome to my planet.”  Jones' eyes grew large as the human captain approached him angrily.

“Jones, how is this your planet?”  Kirk's face darkened with anger.

“Why, Captain,” Jones stuttered nervously, “I am appalled at your attitude.”

“My attitude?  Jones, what are you doing in charge of this project?”  He gestured emphatically.  “The last time we encountered you, you nearly caused a war with the Klingons over that, that...”

“Glommer,” Spock provided smoothly as Kirk continued to sputter.

“That glommer.  You stole it from the Klingons after they engineered it to take care of the tribbles that infested my ship and theirs.”

“I am but a simple trader, Captain.”  Jones bowed slightly, sweating profusely, and Kirk could only think what an obsequious toad he was.

“You are a thief, Jones, and I left you in Federation custody.  Why are you free?”

“I met a generous benefactor, Captain, who was willing to assist me with my legal difficulties due to my vast experience with genetics.”  Jones' face was a picture of honesty.  Kirk didn't trust it for a moment.

“Where?  In prison?” Kirk asked angrily.

“Well, actually...yes.  However, Mr. Smith was very well connected and open to suggestions that we move forward in this endeavor.”

“Mr. Smith?”  Kirk repeated it dubiously.  Even the name seemed questionable.  Kirk looked at the rotund Jones who was now sweating profusely in the hot and humid weather.  “Oh, I am going to take this place apart, Jones, brick by brick, to make sure that it and you are legitimate.”

“My life is an open book, Captain,” Jones replied nonplussed. “If you will follow me?”

                Kirk looked toward his First Officer.  “Do we have an accountant aboard? Somebody's got to look at the books.”

Spock thought briefly and then responded, “I shall have Ensign Calin beam down.  He is the federation services officer aboard and is responsible for on-board financial records.”

Jones' eyes bulged.  “At the station.  All financial records are at the station.”

Kirk waited a moment until Spock could follow his orders and then pointed toward the retreating Jones.  “Spock, Bones, with me.”

Two jeeps roared toward them, also plastered with the In-Gen name, and slid to a halt within a few feet of them.  The three of them climbed into close quarters in the back of one, and Jones slid into the front passenger seat.  The other vehicle containing Ambassador Fox jetted ahead to open a massive gate that loomed before them.  When both had passed through the gate, it closed behind them smoothly.  Kirk stepped from the vehicle to get his first impression inside the park.  Signs posted read ‘Electrified Fence!  10,000 Volts’ everywhere along the towering concrete and wire barrier.

“How is this set up?” Kirk asked as Jones reluctantly joined him.

“The areas containing dinosaurs are completely enclosed with this fencing.  More than fifty miles of it just for this one.  There are concrete moats and sensor tracking systems throughout each paddock.”

Kirk nodded in acknowledgment.  Reasonable security for something as large as a dinosaur.

“You'll be apologizing to me by the time your visit is over, Captain,” Jones insisted.  “We've taken every precaution, and my investors and I are going to make a fortune.”

“We'll see.”

He climbed back into the vehicle and they rolled only a short distance before Spock uttered something unintelligible and jumped from the slow moving jeep before he went to kneel next to a large plant at the side of the road.  Their movement stopped as he bent over the plant to study it scrupulously, his attention riveted to the green foliage before him.  Jim smiled at his enthusiasm and then looked to the left where he promptly lost his breath.

“This is impossible,” Spock murmured as he examined the green leaves in his hands.

Jim jumped from the vehicle, unable to speak, and went to his First Officer. Kneeling beside him, he said only “Spock” and pointed in the direction he had been looking.

When he died, Jim Kirk thought, he would remember the look of rapture that filled the usually austere Vulcan face.  For long moments, they both said nothing, only looked at the scene in the low lying land just beyond them.  Near where they had stopped, the land sloped gently into an open, green meadow.  Trees lined the far edge of the open land, and the place was teaming with life.  Munching on a tall, vast conifer was a brachiosaur which was in the process of consuming a branch about thirty feet above them.  As they watched, speechless, the brachiosaur cried out and rose to its hind feet to secure another branch, then slammed into the soil below it so hard that the impact carried to their bodies.

“It is...” 

“Yes, it is,” Jim agreed softly.

“He did it,” McCoy said as he approached the other men.  “The son of a bitch did it.”

Another brachiosaur moved deliberately from a ring of trees and with him came a herd of smaller dinosaurs.  It was as if they were on some vast African plain where animals once roamed freely except that these animals were dinosaurs.

“They move in herds,” Jim heard Spock whisper, “just as hypothesized.”

“This will answer many questions about whether they were warm or cold blooded,” McCoy added.

Jim had quit looking at the dinosaurs.  The best show on this planet at the moment was a certain reserved, contained Vulcan who had just had his mind blown.  Kirk's heart swelled with affection.  This was why Spock was so good at his job.  It wasn't just the numbers or the equations.  His Vulcan First had a vast respect for life in all its forms and a curiosity that never seemed to end.

Spock noticed his stare and murmured, “Jim.”  The softness of his voice touched Kirk's heart. 

“You are correct, Mr. Jones.”  Ambassador Fox’s voice destroyed the moment.  “Your partners and the Federation are going to make a fortune.”

“How?  How did you do this?” Spock finally demanded as he began to regain his composure.

“Come with me and I'll show you,” Cyrano Jones chuckled.


	4. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _By:  AKO_
> 
>  

Jones and the three Enterprise officers returned to the Jeeps.  Ambassador Fox sat in the back of one and merely scowled. Cyrano Jones immediately went into lecture mode, and Kirk’s comfort decreased dramatically.  “You can see the exterior of the Visitors’ Center, constructed of recycled plasticrete—”

“Save the sales pitch, Jones,” Jim interrupted. “We’re neither investing nor touring.  Show us where the grant money went.”

“Ah, Captain!  You have the face of a poet, you know.  You should have more romance, more imagination in your soul.  This place is magic!  It is…”

“ _Jones!_ ”

Cyrano huffed in disappointment.  “Oh, such a spoilsport!  Okay, then…we are circling to the back, where the computer access ports are located.  Then we will go from there to the labs, which include the fertilization and incubation departments!  You will be enthralled, Captain, I promise you!”

The Jeeps entered a tunnel at the rear of the building, and the first thing everyone noticed was the climatic change.  The air here was cooler and drier, bringing welcoming relief to all.   Well, all except Spock who barely suppressed a shiver.  The first stop was alongside the windowed Computer Technology Department.  A holovideo started running as soon as the car came to a full halt, featuring an overly-cheerful drone in a brightly-colored IN-GEN jumpsuit who began a canned speech about the computer system which had enabled the computations necessary to create the animals inside the park.

Spock’s interest was engaged immediately when the size and speed of the system were explained. The servers, located within artificial satellites which orbited the planet and boasted highly customized chipsets running multi-core processors, acted as host machines. Each chipset utilized conductors comprised of microcrystals grown from the naturally-occurring quadro-rubidium ore mined on one of the moons around Denaris III.  

“Question,” Spock intoned.  The holo projection was interactive, and the narrator stopped and smiled. 

“Yes, Sir?”

“There is no registration of quadro-rubidium deposits in this system according to Federation records.”

The drone hesitated, and cocked her head.  “Thank you so much for your interest, Sir.  Your question has been forwarded to our Guest Information Center, and you will receive a reply within 3 to 4 working days.”

Kirk bellowed, “ _Jones!_ ”

“Oh, Captain, Captain, Captain!  Aren’t you impressed with the holovideo tour guide?  The program is adaptable and will feature same-species hosting for the guests!”

Kirk was scowling.  “That’s beside the point.  Tell me about the lack of proper registration for the mines!”

Cyrano made a dismissive wave of his hand.   “It’s a mere paperwork fluster!  You work for the government, you should understand these things!  The original surveying firm lost its Federal license, and the new firm had to begin the application process from the beginning.  And then the material labs we contracted with went out of business and all of the analysis work was lost, which also slowed down the reporting procedures.  But we are completely legal and above-board, and we have insurance!”

“Jones, I don’t care if your theme park offers a trip to the top of Mount Olympus to commune with Zeus, Jesus, Surak, and Kahless, you are treading on extremely thin ice.  You have used taxpayer money here for questionable purposes. It also appears you’re deliberately thwarting Federation laws!  I _will_ shut you down if the excuses continue!”

“Captain, I really would like to hear the remainder of the computer systems portion.”

“Fine, Spock, fine.”  Kirk turned back to Cyrano, pointed his index finger, and scowled.  “I’m not finished with you.”

Jones shrugged, and waved his hand.  “Resume.”

“The satellites contain the processors in parallel configuration, and are cooled with septo-fluorine liquefied gas using space itself as a heatsink.  The combination of the microcrystal processors and the extremely efficient cooling system permit the computer array for IN-GEN to be the fastest in the Federation.”

“Pause,” said Kirk.  He looked at Spock.  “True?”

Spock raised an eyebrow.  “Possibly.”

“Resume.”

The smile on the drone was actually quite irritating.  “The speed and the magnitude were both necessary to reanalyze and quantify existing dinosaur DNA files, but also include the analysis and integration of microfragments of DNA since discovered on Earth.  Evolutionary coding in mitochondrial DNA was also decrypted, allowing projected development of parallel theoretical species.  These fascinating computations are enabling scientists to expand their studies of galactic migrations.”

McCoy roused from his contentment, and hollered, “Halt program!”  He glared daggers at Cyrano.  “What the _Hell_ are you up to?  This isn’t some philanthropic project, Jones!  You aren’t providing this kind of expensive information for _free._   Is this the basis for your application for Federation research grants?”

“Oh, Good Doctor!  Yes, exactly!  We are making scientific breakthroughs every single day!  And our discoveries are available to research scientists throughout the Federation!   The evolutionary coding is a byproduct of our business.  It behooves us to donate this data!”  Jones smiled broadly and tapped his fingertips together.

“You obsequious toad,” Kirk’s fury boiled through his voice.   “I’m surprised your vocabulary would even include such a word as ‘behooves.’  What have you actually cooked up here that would even _interest_ a research scientist?” 

“Ahhhh, Captain!” And now the snake oil began to ooze.  “The key to all of this is the confirmation of galactic migration.  We have the proof that life throughout the galaxy has a common origin!  And this valuable information has enabled IN-GEN to customize our dinosaur population with injections of non-Earth species!  The outward appearance of our beautiful beasts will still be the same as the prehistoric giants we all love, but the alien genetics allow us to have complete and utter control over any major factors!”

Spock had bristled infinitesimally at the reference to ‘alien’ and he spoke in a voice even drier than usual.  “Mister Jones, expound upon these ‘factors’ of which you claim to have control.”

Jones’ smile brightened.  “Oh, Commander, I’m so glad you picked that up!  We shall expound once we enter the laboratory!  Have you heard enough about our exemplary computer systems?”

Spock nodded, “For now.”

“Advance program to Fertilization Lab,” Cyrano purred.

Kirk scowled.  The Jeep moved down the tunnel and stopped in front of a bustling, pristine laboratory.  Workers were clothed in sani-suits and each wore a self-contained breathing apparatus.  Complex robotics lined along one wall, and computer holoscreens floated everywhere.

Cyrano said, “Resume program.”

A different holographic drone appeared.  This one was even more irritating than the first.  “Our synthesized dinosaur DNA is injected into de-nucleated reptilian eggs obtained from optimal species within the Denarian system.  These eggs are closely monitored using pan-optic means until they have developed enough to insure survival.  This point varies in each species.  Once the viability is confirmed, the eggs are then moved to the incubation area designated for each genus.”

“Pause program.”  Most people would see just the perfect deadpan expression on Spock’s face, but Kirk knew his First Officer was pissed.  Not angry, not perturbed, not annoyed—Spock was pissed.  “Mister Jones, the afore-mentioned factors?”

Cyrano giggled, “Such impatience!  Advance to Incubation Lab.”

Kirk pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Jones, skip the holovideo.  Please.  I’m getting a headache.  Cut through this nonsense and answer the Commander’s question.”

“Oh, all right, all right.  We’ll go to the hatchery.  Advance to Hatching Lab.  Discontinue narration.”  The car stopped at a new laboratory containing concave tables with individual heat lamps overhead.  One or two workers stood at each table as variously-colored and -sized eggs were fracturing from within.  “Gentlemen!  Look at our babies!”

Spock stood, and addressed Cyrano.  “I wish to exit the vehicle.”

“Oh, no, our guests stay in the vehicle at all times.  It’s the terms of our insurance policy, you see…”

“Not acceptable.  We are not ‘guests,’ Mister Jones, but inspectors on behalf of the Federation and require a _comprehensive_ tour.” Spock gracefully hopped over the locked Jeep door and quickly strode toward the doorway which led to the lab. The glass door was secured, and he bent over a nearby access panel.

“No, no, no, guests cannot access the controls, they are set to thumbprint recognition only, for the park operators.”

A few beeps were heard, and the door opened.

“Override code?”  Kirk questioned, as he climbed out of the Jeep and walked over to Spock.

“With a common password,” Spock answered.

McCoy joined the two of them.  “What was the password, Spock?”

Spock raised an eyebrow:  “PASSWORD.”

After passively observing this entire time, Ambassador Fox finally came to life.  He angrily clambered from the Jeep and poked Cyrano with a finger.  “You promised us this place was secure!”

Cyrano smiled and patted the Ambassador on the shoulder.  “Not to worry, not to worry.  We are having the system passwords changed to practically unbreakable ones right before the park opens!”

McCoy looked at Jones with disgust, and rolled his eyes.

In the laboratory, they all walked over to a hatching table where a creature was just emerging.  Artificial construct or not, the birthing was a miracle and they stood in semi-awe to watch the process.  Jones came up behind and tried to surround them in an embrace.  Spock stepped aside, while Kirk and McCoy glared.  Jones’s arms dropped down and he shrugged.  Ambassador Fox clasped and unclasped his hands repeatedly in an anxious manner.

Once the hatchling was free of the shell, McCoy reached to touch it.  A worker handed him a cloth and he cleaned away the mucus and cleared the airway.  “Aren’t you adorable?” he said to no one.

Spock caught the worker’s eye and asked, “What species is this?”

“Velociraptor.”

McCoy’s hands flew up in the air and he yelped as he jumped back a step.

“What are the alien factors bred into the creatures’ DNA?” Spock inquired of the same worker.

Every single worker in the laboratory looked in their direction and grinned.  The one questioned by Spock announced, “They’re sexless!”

“Indeed!”  Spock raised both eyebrows.  “That is quite an achievement.  You modified the sex chromosome?”

“Exactly.  All sexual characteristics have been removed, and enough testing was done to make sure there were no other developmental anomalies in the finalized code.  Thus, we have eliminated any concerns about populating other worlds with our creatures.”

“And what protection do you have against any ‘misappropriations?’” Kirk demanded.

“Oh, the babies are chipped with GPS transponders right after hatching.  The computer satellites are also GPS navsats.”

“How do you inventory the eggs and the chipped hatchlings?” Spock wanted to know.

“Nonviable eggs and dead or deformed hatchlings are reported upon observation.  Eggs are counted optically and their numbers are compared hourly with the GPS counts of the chipped creatures.”

“What happens if there are discrepancies?”

“Lab lockdown.”

Spock looked at Kirk and did a slow blink.  “On the surface, the system appears to be tenable.”

“But?”

“I have concerns about chromosome anomalies and inherent regeneration properties of the Denarian species utilized.  I doubt whether evolution can be removed genetically.”

Kirk gave an ironic grin.  “Points taken, Mr Spock.”

“In addition…”  Spock paused.

McCoy groaned, “Oh, God help us all!”

Spock ignored the doctor and continued, “The research grants were awarded for the decoding of the mitochondrial DNA, which IN-GEN and Jones now claim to prove galactic migration.  I have concerns that any manipulation of this particular DNA is potentially dangerous, not only to any development on this planet, but throughout the Federation and even the galaxy.  Mitochondrial structures handle the way a cell metabolizes energy.   This is not the same as longer legs, or blue eyes, or other physical appearances.  This is about an organism’s ability to store and use energy.”

“Just what are you saying, Spock?” McCoy’s face was screwed up into a mask of confusion.

“To put it another way, Doctor, Cyrano Jones may be modeling the Chaos Theory.”


	5. Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _By:  Country Doctor_
> 
>  

 

           “Captain!  Mr. Spock?  Uh—we planned to show you the raptors later—after lunch!”

            McCoy watched silently as Jones quickened his pace across the compound, struggling to catch up to the two men who were obviously ignoring him. Kirk and the Commander had been adamant about seeing the raptors and they had all practically flown from the lab when they found out how close the creatures’ habitats were. The doctor stifled a chuckle when the trader nearly tumbled on a couple occasions.  Ambassador Fox glanced at the doctor from the corner of his eye before hurrying behind Jones, his back with the stiffness of a man trying too hard to prove his importance.

            McCoy’s own steps remained steady as Kirk’s abridged explanation of the Chaos Theory ruminated in the doctor’s consciousness. He absorbed Jones’s display of false dominance over nature with rising trepidation.  This place was a deathtrap, a dangerous carbon copy of a prehistoric era eliminated by natural evolution. For the trader to even attempt to monkey around with nature at this magnitude was not only foolish, but spoke volumes to his greed. His thoughts kept traveling back to the alien DNA that was mentioned in the lab.  What type of native species could Jones have possibly used?

         With a host of new questions filling his head, the doctor finally reached the rest of the group, walking slowly toward a large container. The creature was hidden behind exotic jungle plants, yet its furious shrieks pierced through the swaying leaves, stopping McCoy cold.   The doctor swallowed hard as chills rattled down his back. He had boarded the Enterprise to practice medicine, not to gawk at genetically modified creatures—especially one violent enough to tear his face off with one slash.  His gaze locked onto the container, mentally hurling curse words at Spock for standing so close to the damn thing.

        “Gentleman—as I was saying,” Jones started, his chest heaving up and down with strained effort, “we’ve laid lunch for you before you head out into the park.  Alejandro, our gourmet chef--“

        “What the hell are they doing up there?” McCoy interjected gruffly, his eyes flickering up towards something moving above the raptor’s container.  The rest of the group followed the doctor’s gaze to where a giant crane was lowering what looked like a dark brown steer.  The animal was hoisted on a blue harness, its legs tearing pathetically through open space attempting to run, not realizing its fate.  Bewildered wails tumbled from the animal’s throat to indicate its disorientation.

       “Oh do calm down, Doctor,” assured Jones jovially, waving his hand nonchalantly. That perpetually annoying trill in his tone caught everyone’s attention.  “They’re just feeding them.  Speaking of which, Alejandro is preparing a _delightful_ meal for us.  A Chilean sea bass for us carnivores, if I’m not mistaken.  And a special vegetarian dish for Mr. Spock.  Shall we?”

       Jones’s words once again fell on deaf ears as Spock, McCoy, Kirk and Fox scurried up the stairs leading up to the viewing deck.  With an exasperated sigh, Jones followed the group up the concrete stairs, not fully recovered from the shuffling across the compound.   The Enterprise officers and Fox watched breathlessly as the crane steadily lowered the steer into the middle of the sea of jungle plants that concealed the poor bastard’s predator.  For a sliver of a moment, an eerie silence ascended from the container.  All the men stared down intensely at the motionless crane line, each forgetting to draw breath.

      Suddenly, the metallic grey bar jerked as if an invisible force had tugged on it.  The movement made everyone but Spock and Jones flinch, while Kirk and McCoy watched with eyes illuminated by morbid anticipation. Another moment of stillness passed before the line began to jerk riotously and the wide leaves of various flora swayed and knocked against the cage bars. The steer’s anguished cries echoed throughout the compound, semi-eclipsed by the raptor’s vicious growling and the gnashing of teeth against bones and raw flesh.

     McCoy’s heart thrashed against his ribs as he watched the dreadful scene unfold.  At that moment, he wanted to place distance between himself and the entire planet.  He was tempted to haul ass down the stairs, flip open his communicator and holler at Scotty to beam him back up to the Enterprise.  But the raptor’s monstrous snarls paralyzed him, forcing him stare at the container, transfixed.  The line danced for two more minutes before it went entirely slack. The growling and helpless wailing faded until all they could hear were the distant calls of exotic birds.

    The doctor shook his head, his stomach churning with nausea and unease. They were feeding these things like they were some kind of exotic pets. They had no idea what they were dealing with. Predators like this needed space…needed the hunt. _Storybook, my ass_ , he mused internally.  _This is an intergalactic catastrophe waiting to happen.  One innocent person had already been killed._

   “Fascinating creature,” whispered Spock, his baritone voice laced with contained wonderment. 

   “They are, aren’t they, Mr. Spock?” asked Jones, wringing his hands a little too excitedly. “Given time, they’ll out draw the T-rex.  That’s a guarantee.”

    “Dr. Jones.  I wish to see the remainder of the raptors,” uttered Spock, turning his gaze onto Jones. “May we have access to them?”

    McCoy’s eyes tore from the still leaves and fell onto the Vulcan.  “Have you lost your mind?!” he barked sharply.  “These aren’t puppies, Spock. They’re raptors!  You just saw what those things are capable of—you go near ‘em, they’ll rip you to shreds!”

   “He’s right, Spock,” said Kirk softly but with a hint of alarm.  “I understand your fascination with these creatures, but I will not allow you to put yourself in harm’s way.”

   “Oh, come now, you two,” interrupted Jones before Spock even parted his lips to defend his reasoning.  “There is nothing wrong with being a little curious.  Besides, we’re still perfecting a viewing system.  The raptors seem to be a bit, uh, resistant to integration into a park setting.”

   “They should all be eliminated,” spoke a deep voice from behind.  Everyone quickly twisted their heads towards its owner.  It was an unknown man—a Vulcan—coming up the stairs, boot soles clapping against the concrete.  

     When he reached the rest of the group, he removed his hat casually, allowing a sheet of sunbeams to highlight the smoothness of his chiseled face. His expression was as stoic as any Vulcan’s, but his dark eyes flickered with unmistakable apprehension. 

    “S’eff!” Jones shrilled in annoyance, approaching the Vulcan with a bounce in his step.  Facing the rest of the group, the trader chimed, “S’eff, my gamekeeper from Vulcan. Bit of an alarmist, I’m afraid, but he’s dealt with the raptors more than anyone.”

    “I am Spock,” the Commander introduced himself, flashing the Vulcan ta’al.  He then introduced the rest of their party, each man greeting the other Vulcan with the traditional hand gesture. “On behalf of the Federation, my colleagues and I have been assigned to investigate the park. You stated that the raptors ought to be eliminated. Why?”

    “I have analyzed these creatures over an extended period of time, Commander Spock” replied S’eff evenly.  “At eight months, the raptors have become lethal hunters.  Their speed has been calculated at ninety-six point five kilometers per hour and their jumping abilities are quite astonishing.”

    “Yes, yes, yes, which is why we take extreme precautions,” Jones laughed nervously.  “The viewing area below us will have eight inch tempered glass set in reinforced steel frames to—” Jones’ sentence was cut short by McCoy and Kirk’s frigid glares. 

    “Do they show intelligence?” Spock inquired.  “Due to their brain cavity, human researchers have assumed—”

    “They show indicators of extreme intelligence, even the ability to problem solve—especially one of substantial size,” replied S’eff, his baritone voice smooth and leveled.  “We bred eight initially, but when she arrived, she established leadership over the pride and killed all but two of the others.” 

     While S’eff continued to speak, McCoy took mental snapshots of the gamekeeper. He averted his gaze at the appropriate moments, but his focus always returned to the tightness of S’eff’s uniform and how it accentuated his sun-kissed, perfectly sculpted body. Suddenly, the Vulcan leaned against the steel railing and slid closer to McCoy, perching his boots on a lower bar on the opposite side, resting his hand on his outer thigh.  The Vulcan’s scent of sweat interwoven with a mysterious sweetness overwhelmed McCoy’s nostrils and he felt heat rush to his cheeks. 

    It was rare that doctor found himself attracted to other men, and really a Vulcan? Maybe it was the scent of grass or the dark hue of the gamekeeper’s obviously tanned olive skin, but it reminded him of home. Hell, it was as good as a distraction as any from the beasts lurking just behind the electrified fencing. Stranger though he was, his closeness and knowledge of the topic at hand managed to give McCoy a slight feeling of comfort. It helped to slightly ease the knot that had settled in the pit of his stomach at some point between beaming down and touring the labs. 

     “When she looks at you,” the Vulcan continued, “it is evident that she is calculating her next move.  Feeding her in this manner is the only logical alternative.  She once had them all attacking the fences when the feeders arrived.”

     “The electric fences _are_ activated, aren’t they?” asked McCoy, a twinge of worry evident in his tone. 

    “Affirmative, Doctor,” the gamekeeper replied. “However, the raptors rarely attack in the same place twice.  In fact, they test the fences for weaknesses.  Systematically.  They remember.”

      When S’eff described the raptor’s characteristics, he internally cringed as the revelation dawned on him.  The Ayrus bird.  The Ayrus birds were an alien species that were prevalent on Planet Tronus VIII.  Their appearance resembled that of a vulture, yet were the same size as a 21st Century emu.  According to Federation records, they were incredibly intelligent, often outwitting their predictors by never showing up or concealing themselves in the same area twice.  These creatures were unable to fly but made up for it with speed, clocking in at ninety or so kilometer per hour. The Ayrus bird’s metabolism was incredibly high so they consumed constantly.  They were recently placed on the Federation’s “Endangered Species” list. McCoy pondered how, if he were right that is, Jones may have gotten a hold of their DNA without being arrested for committing a felony.  He thought of the ‘Mr. Smith’ Cyrano had cited earlier in the day and pursed his lips.

        S’eff’s mahogany eyes locked with McCoy’s blue ones, bringing the doctor back to reality. Though the Vulcan’s facial expression exhibited composure, his gaze flickered for a moment and Leonard could have sworn he was looking inside of him. Of course, they weren’t touching so that couldn’t be the case. Still, the corner of McCoy’s lips quirked involuntarily as the redness in his cheeks deepened, and he averted his eyes.

       The loud whirring sound behind them caused him to flinch.  They all seemed to simultaneously turn around and then stared as the end portion of the cable became visible.  The harness that once carried the disoriented steer was now tattered, soaked in wet crimson gore.

      Jones clapped his hands together enthusiastically. “Who’s hungry?” he asked with a grin that was so inappropriate it sickened the rest of the group.

*****

      The waiter placed in front of him a plate decorated with freshly grilled sea bass smothered in grated cheddar. McCoy’s stomach churned as the aroma of the food assaulted his nose. After witnessing a live steer being shredded by a genetically engineered raptor, eating cooked animal flesh didn’t seem so appealing.  He looked around the darkened room and found that Kirk and Spock weren’t touching their meals either. 

     They were all settled at a table surrounded by four holo-projection screens, each of them simultaneously displaying current and future features of the park.  Jones’ recorded voice described every feature in full detail with same superficial tweet that was starting to grate on the doctor’s good nerve.

     “None of these attractions are quite finished yet,” Jones chattered.  “The park will open with the basic tour you’ll be taking. Oh!  Get this!  We’ll have park rides—ones that were popular in the twenty-first century:  roller coasters, Ferris wheels.  All kinds!  But that’ll come later after—say six or twelve months.  Absolutely spectacular designs.  And I can charge anything I want!  Two thousand a day, ten thousand a day—people will pay it!  And then there’s the merchandising—“

     “Jones,” Kirk interrupted tensely, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the table with his hands folded in of him.  His patience with the trader had expired at the lab, where one excuse after another spewed from his mouth about _everything_. At this point, McCoy could see that it was taking every single ounce of strength Jim could muster not to crash his fist against Jones’s face.  “This is not the time to share your dreams of grandeur.  We’re still in the middle of conducting an investigation and, so far, you’re up to your _neck_ in violations.” 

     “Not to mention the fact that your registration for the quadro-rubidium mines has not been confirmed,” intoned Spock, his arms crossed over his chest.  “As it currently stands, the chances of this park opening are minimal.”

     McCoy was watching the screens the entire time, his eyes switching from one screen to the next, his consciousness ruminating over the flashing images of how the park was resurrected.  Some of the projections featured Jones himself weaving elaborated stories about how IN-GEN and the park sprang from his self-proclaimed genius.  When he was sick of hearing the trader’s narrative, his attention fixated on the material on the table.  His plate and all their drinking cups were branded with the silhouette of a T-Rex in the center.  In the center of the table were amusement park-style maps, glossy and neatly folded.  The doctor picked one up, reading a title screaming in bold letters: Fly United to IN-GEN!

     McCoy tossed the brochure back onto the table, snorting with a bitter contempt.  He’d had enough of this manure.  Jones was mocking nature and was trying to play preserver.  _I’ll be damned_ _if he gets away with it_ , thought the doctor, seething. 

    “I gotta be honest, the lack of humility before nature that’s been displayed here staggers me,” spoke McCoy, shaking his head with disgust.

    The entire group turned to look at the doctor. 

    “I beg your pardon, Dr. McCoy,” responded Jones, his usual trill now laced with slight exasperation, “but I think things are a tiny bit different than I feared.”

    “Yeah, I know,” McCoy agreed sarcastically. “They’re a hell of a lot worse.”

     “In what manner, Doctor?  I want to hear all your viewpoints.  I truly do.” 

     “Don’t you see the danger, Jones, inherent in what you’re doing here?” McCoy barked heatedly.  “Genetic power is the most awesome ever seen on any planet.  But you wield it like a child who’s found his daddy’s phaser.”

    “Excuse me?” The exasperation in the trader’s voice was unmistakable. “It is hardly appropriate—”

    “The problem with the scientific power you’ve used,” interrupted McCoy sharply, “is that it didn’t require any discipline to attain it.  You read what others had done and you took the next step.  You didn’t earn the knowledge yourselves, so you don’t take the responsibility for it. You stood on the shoulders of geniuses to accomplish something as fast as you could, and before you knew what you had, you patented it, packaged it, slapped it onto cups and plates and now you want to _sell_ it!”

    “Oh, Doctor, give us our credit,” laughed Jones, irritated. “Our scientists have done things no one could ever do before.”

    “Credit?!” hollered McCoy.  “Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could that they didn’t stop to think it if they should!”

    “But this is nature! Why not give an extinct species a second chance?! I mean, Condors!  Condors are once again on the verge of extinction on Earth.  If I created a flock of them on the planet, you wouldn’t be saying any of this.”

    “No, no,” rebutted McCoy, waving his index back and forth frantically. “This is no species that was obliterated by deforestation or the building of a colony.  Dinosaurs had their shot and Nature selected them for extinction.”

    “I don’t understand this Luddite attitude—especially from a man who saves lives!” Jones argued frustratingly.  “How could we stand in light of discovery and not act?”

    “There’s nothing great about discovery,” replied Bones.  “It’s a violent, penetrative act that scars what it explores.  What you call discovery _I say_ is a violation against the natural universe!”

    “May I please hear from someone else?” the trader asked, managing to gain a sliver of his composure.  “Captain Kirk?”

    “The questions, Jones,” began Kirk, “are how much do you know about an extinct ecosystem and how could you assume you can control it?  These are aggressive creatures that have no idea what century they’re living in. They will defend themselves—violently, if necessary.”

    “Mr. Spock,” Jones called, desperately stretching his hands out towards the Vulcan before dropping them on the table.  “If there’s one person who can appreciate all of this, it’s you.”

    “I will concede that I was quite intrigued,” intoned Spock calmly.  “However, dinosaurs and Man—two species separated by 65 million years of evolution—are now suddenly cohabitating once more.  How can we have the faintest idea of what to expect?”

    “I don’t believe my ears,” Jones huffed in disappointment.  “I specifically invited you men to IN-GEN to evaluate the safety conditions of the park, physical containment.  Not to throw theories about unpredictable animal behaviors at me.  That’s not even part of your evaluation.  Besides, you haven’t seen the rest of the park yet, so—“

    Jones was interrupted when Alajandro leaned towards him, whispering something in his ear that spread a wide grin to his face.  As the hired help walked away and disappeared, Jones once again clapped his hands together, his face beaming as if he was rejuvenated.

    “Ah—they’re here,” the trader chimed.  “I was just informed that the jeeps pulled up in front on the building, all charged and ready to go.  Gentlemen, the second half of the tour has now begun.”

             

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _By:  TLuminareth_
> 
>  

Scotty tapped his finger restlessly against the arm panel of the captain’s chair much to the chagrin of everyone else present on the bridge. The landing party had only been on Denaris V for a few hours, yet it felt like days to the acting Captain. The Enterprise, of course, was in the best shape she possibly could be this deep into space. It wasn’t as though Scotty had anything to fix, but even if there was, it wouldn’t currently fall to him to fix her.

He sighed, his mind trying to come up with something, anything that might need his immediate attention. With a shake of his head he rose with an audible popping of joints as he moved to stand behind Sulu at the helm.

“Anything to report?” There was a tinge of desperation to the question, one Sulu heard but did not comment upon knowing the feeling all too well whenever they found themselves in these periods of inactivity.

“Nothing sir. Everything is normal.”

“Sir, I’m receiving an incoming communication from Starfleet. It’s classified as urgent,” Uhura said, peaking Scotty’s interest immediately.

“On screen,” he said as he moved to sit once more in the captain’s chair.

The viewer sprang to life and the visage of Admiral Komack appeared. “Acting Captain, Scott,” the man greeted stiffly.

“Admiral,” Scotty returned. “What can we do for you, sir?”  
  
“The Enterprise is to proceed to the Tragis System at once,” the man informed.

Scotty didn’t bristle at the Admiral’s high-handed command, but replied plainly instead, “As Starfleet is well aware, we are currently orbiting Denaris V where the Captain, First Officer, and CMO are ascertaining…”

“I am well aware of the situation, Mr. Scott,” Komack interrupted. “This can be done in addition to the mission on Denaris five.”

Scotty took a deep breath. He wasn’t comfortable with what the Admiral was suggesting. The safety of the area the Captain and the others were investigating hadn’t been determined. “And what exactly would the Enterprise be doing at Tragis? It’s not exactly a hop skip away…”

“There is talk of an uprising and since it is under Federation protection…”

“You want us to try and defuse the situation? Wouldn’t that require a ranking Captain’s prowess, sir?”

“A simple show of presence should establish the Federation’s ongoing surveillance,” Komack replied testily with a wave of his hand.

“We’re to leave our Captain and First Officer behind for that? Isn’t there another ship that can go in the Enterprise’s stead?” Scotty was not impressed and his voice was laced with barely concealed annoyance.

“Not at this juncture. I trust you will follow orders Mr. Scott.” The Admiral’s expression was a reprimand in and of itself and Scotty reigned in his temper. He didn’t want to cause unnecessary problems for the Captain.

“Aye. That I will.” It was better in the long run to do as Starfleet asked for the time being.

“Komack out.”

They would have to leave the planet. “Mr. Chekov, alert the Captain to our new orders. Mr. Sulu, set a course for Targis. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can return.”

•••

Kirk did not like it, not one bit. He took his frustration out on the communicator, slamming it shut with unnecessary force. He was used to Starfleet commanding the Enterprise at the drop of a hat but every time it happened it was as unexpected as the first time. He should have learned long ago not to put anything past Command; it seemed no mission was too menial for their flagship.

Taking a deep breath, he moved to join the others who had proceeded outside where another Jeep was waiting to take them through the park. He would rather be on the Enterprise heading away from Jones and his madness, but that was no longer an option, even if it became necessary. They had to see this thing through to the bitter end for better or worse. For some reason, he suddenly felt uneasy knowing the Enterprise was no longer a reassuring, distant presence. 

Jones was bustling with barely restrained excitement as he herded Bones and the ambassador towards a Jeep. Bones looked ready to deck Jones in the face; the conman had been laying it on thick to try and convince them all that this park was a good idea. _No, this place is not a good idea_ , Kirk thought ironically to himself, _it’s_ _a gold mine ready to collapse at any moment._ Jones was all about the money after all; everything else, including the repercussions were secondary.

“Jim.” Kirk startled at his name softly spoken by Spock who had quietly come up beside him. Spock had doubtlessly overheard at least part of his conversation with the ship and Jim knew he was hiding his frustration with the situation rather poorly.

Spock raised an eyebrow in silent question, waiting for Kirk to discuss it with him as they both knew he would. “The Enterprise has been called away,” Kirk said in a resigned voice.

Spock was waiting for the “punch line” and as the silence continued, he knew he would not be receiving one. Spock’s back stiffened as his hands unconsciously came together behind his back; the only tells that he was less than pleased with this information. 

“There must have been a good reason to do so,” Spock responded in his monotone; another sign of his displeasure that brought a small smirk to Kirk’s face though it did not reach his eyes.

“Let’s hope nothing goes wrong that will require the Enterprise’s assistance which we no longer have.”

Spock could only nod as the two of them joined the ambassador and the doctor in the Jeep that would bring them into the park.

•••

S’eff walked with purpose, the tablet in his hand showing him the data that could prove troublesome for those on the tour. He had warned Mr. Jones of this possibility, having tracked the storm earlier in the week. The region of the planet where the facility was located was prone to hurricanes and tropical storms due to its climate, which was necessary to sustain the park’s life and habitat. He walked towards the control room briskly, reigning in his annoyance. He was the gamekeeper, not a meteorologist. Nevertheless, if he were, would it not then behoove Jones to adhere to his advisement after having asked the Vulcan to track the planet’s weather patterns?

He came across Jones who appeared to also be heading to the control room while looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“The tropical storm we have been tracking has strengthened and is moving toward the coastline,” S’eff informed as casually as one might report the temperature. “I am monitoring its trajectory. At its current rate of speed, it could be upon the facility within two to three standard hours, nightfall at the very latest.”

Jones swore under his breath, his good mood evaporating instantly. He needed this tour to go perfectly so his guests would see that this was not a place to be feared. Their word would make or break him and it all hinged on whether or not the park and his staff could perform to the degree he said it could. A storm would put them behind, not to mention it would cause the animals to move to the center of their habitats. He pressed the password into the panel with a little more force than was strictly necessary and the door hissed open. “Keep me updated. We may have to postpone the remainder of the tour until tomorrow if it becomes too strong.”

“Unlikely,” S’eff commented.

Jones said nothing as he moved to stand behind his head engineer, Desalle, who sat in front of his terminal where an array of monitors displayed the hundreds of camera feeds from all over the park. He quickly brought up the ones trained on the Jeeps containing their visitors. A few more clicks of various buttons and Desalle turned to Jones with a question in his eye. Jones was not paying attention, his focus solely on the four passengers as he tried to discern what they were saying based on nothing more than their body language. The vehicle interior cameras wouldn’t come online until the vehicles were activated. 

“Program ready,” Desalle said, bringing Jones back into the room.

He almost looked nervous to Desalle, an emotion he had never seen on Jones before. He inhaled and exhaled slowly trying to release the knot of tension in his gut.

“Start it,” Jones said.

“Hang onto your butts,” Desalle quipped, trying to lighten the mood in the room with little to no success.

He quickly started the program and there was a whir from the machines as they began to calibrate and run the program that guided the Jeeps over the tracks remotely. Jones’s eyes snapped to the screens of the exterior where the cars were just now beginning to move.

•••

The tour vehicles were mint and obviously designed specifically for the park’s purposes. They appeared to be remotely guided, its dash vacant of any manual control devices such as a wheel or directional kiosk. It followed a track laid on the ground which would relay their position to the main control room at any given time. The exteriors were painted a ghastly green that blended into yellow with patches of red on the hood. The name “Jurassic Park” was plastered over the doors and hood of each one to boldly advertise the park’s name.  
  
The roof and most of the doors had been replaced with glass which allowed a three hundred and sixty degree view with very few blind spots created by the vehicle’s frame. Under the seats, they noticed a first aid kit, binoculars and a host of other supplies for unanticipated hazards. Jones, to his credit, had at least thought of that. It also housed an interactive hologram system that would no doubt be their “tour guide” for the duration of their experience.

The car slowly traveled along the track on the dirt road, which led to the main gate of the park. It was easily fifty feet at the highest point, with doors that swung inward when triggered by sensors. It was painted in an ugly brown that was no doubt supposed to make it appear as though made of wood but the effect fell flat. There were torches adorning either side with artificial flames—another display of Cyrano’s tacky sense of flair. Large red letters outlined in yellow proclaimed “Jurassic Park” in a font that looked like something copied from a cheap horror flick. There was no real purpose to the gate; it provided no added security and probably cost more than it was worth. It was all for show and Kirk could not help but chuckle at its absurd gaudiness.

“Who are they trying to impress with that?” Bones muttered to himself, though loud enough for everyone to hear.

The gates slowly opened to reveal the park within and thick vegetation as far as the eye could see, as dense as any Earth jungle. As the car moved closer to the open gate the hologram, which seemed to be automatic, came to life and filled the vehicle with a soft glow and lilting female voice. “ _During your tour, information will be automatically selected to correspond with the dinosaur habitat you are viewing. The tour may be paused for a maximum of five minutes at each stop to answer any and all questions you may have_.”

As the car passed just beyond the entrance, the gates slowly began to close behind them and the voice continued, “ _Welcome to Jurassic Park_.” There was a soft pop as the hologram turned off.

“Here we go,” Bones said as sarcastically as he possibly could, the gates clanging shut with finality.

While they all maintained their qualms with Jones, what he had done and planned to do, there was a barely contained excitement between them all as the car reached its first stop on the tour. A sign on the left side of the vehicle advertised the picture of a skull with “Dilophosaurus” written on it in the same ridiculous font as the park’s name on the gates and the cars.

The hologram spluttered to life once again and began to speak. “ _If you look to your right, you will see one of the first dinosaurs on our tour called dilophosaurus_.”

All heads in the car turned quickly to try and view the dinosaur the hologram was describing. The partition, a blue buzzing force field, was lined on the inside by thick tropical flora which obscured the view on the other side. Everyone in the car moved this way and that trying to see from different vantage points to no avail. 

“ _One of the earliest carnivores, we now know diolophosaurus is actually poisonous, spitting its venom at its prey, causing blindness and eventually paralysis which allows it to eat at its leisure_.” 

“Charming,” Bones could not help sardonically saying as he tried and failed to hide the fact he was looking just as much as the other three to catch a glimpse of the dinosaur. However, all he saw was the green of the plant life swaying in the almost non-existent breeze.

“ _This makes the dilophosaurus a beautiful but deadly addition to Jurassic Park_.”

The car slowly moved on, four sets of eyes still straining to see any sign that there was actually a dinosaur beyond the foliage as they’d been led to believe. It would not be beyond Jones to simply say there were dinosaurs only for there to be none on the tour. It would certainly fetch a lot of credits for the con artist in the short run, but it would also be the most elaborate and pricy hoax Kirk had ever come across.

There was a shifting of bodies in the Jeep as the first stop faded from view giving them no reason to strain their necks. No one said anything as the car picked up a bit of speed and continued on with the tour, disappointment heavy in the air.

•••

“The head lights are on and they’re not responding. They shouldn’t be running at all right now. Item 151 on today’s glitch list,” Desalle spoke though he did so at large, not really expecting anyone to be paying attention to him. He made a note of the glitch on his tablet and regarded the screen, looking for more discrepancies in the program. “All the problems of a major zoo and theme park and the programs aren’t even on their feet yet,” he mumbled to himself in dismay.

Jones had been listening to Desalle and turned to the man who was meant to be in charge of programming the whole park system. “Gary, our lives are in your hands and you sit there eating?”

Gary stiffened at Jones’ voice as he slowly swiveled the chair around to consider him with the most scathing look he could come up with on such short notice. He chuckled darkly at the short squat man who was as clueless as he was a money grubbing bastard.

“I’m totally unappreciated around here. It’s a wonder I continue to let myself be treated this way,” he loudly mumbled so all present could easily hear. There were plenty of other companies who would kill to have him at their beck and call and yet he’d chosen this one. No matter. Soon, he would be done with this whole company but it was the principle of the matter.

“Might I remind you that you can run this whole park from this room with minimal to no staff for three days? You think that kind of automation comes easy?” Gary took a bite of the apple he’d been eating before being put on the stand. “Or cheap?” he asked around the mouthful of fruit, spraying some of it across the room intentionally.

“I’m not so sure there are many who could put up with you and your hair-brained ideas, who can network all this crap technology while also debugging the code that runs it with the amount of money I’m paid Mr. Spare No Expense Jones,” he continued on. “If there is someone, please by all means bring them on in and let them take a stab at it.” Gary started turning away, taking another bite of apple as he did so.

“We’ve been over this countless times before. Your financial problems are yours not mine,” Jones said with a long-suffering sigh. “I am not the one who was caught cheating and summarily expelled from Starfleet Academy.”

“You’re so right,” Gary hissed in anger. “Everything is my problem isn’t it?”

“I will not have this argument with you again. Your salary is already by far the highest given to anyone on this planet and far more than you would have made as an Ensign on a starship. If you don’t know how to manage what you are given do not take it out on me,” Jones said with all mirth gone from his voice. 

“Yeah well…”

“Gary! The glitch!” Desalle interrupted, just as fed up if not more so than Jones was with the man. Everything depended on the arrogant programmer.

“I’ll debug the damn thing when they get back is that alright with everyone?” Gary snapped to the room.

Everyone glared at him but he did not back down. “If you want your oh so precious computer cycles to be eaten up by something that can wait then by all means let me run the program. We might lose important parts of the system but hey, the fucking lights are crucial right?”

“Enough!” Jones bellowed in a show of uncommon anger.

“Kroyokah!”

Every pair of eyes in the room moved to the Vulcan who had been up to this point watching the video feed of the car in silence. He always let the humans squabble over the inane aspects of this park. He had more pressing matters; for one, the habitat the cars were slowly but surely approaching.

“They are almost to the tyrannosaurus zone.”

•••

The car was once again slowing, this time in front of a taller force field partition than the last. Unlike the first attraction though, the car came to a complete halt so they could see what was meant to be inside the pen. None of them knew which dinosaur might warrant a complete stop. The force field holding the dinosaur in hummed, discernable even in the Jeep. Apart from the occasional bird call, there was no indication that anything other than vegetation was calling the zone home. There was no sign indicating anything for the pen other than an obvious warning of the amount of electricity going through the force field. For some reason, the hologram was silent.

“God creates dinosaur,” Bones began ticking things off on his fingers though his eyes did not stray away from the window. “God destroys dinosaurs. God creates humans. Humans destroy God. Humans create dinosaurs.”  
  
“Dinosaurs would likely find Humans a suitable form of sustenance,” Spock continued the doctor’s train of thought. “Vulcans will take care of Earth in your absence.”

Three human heads turned to Spock, all of them a picture of shock, until Jim broke the silence with a chuckle. “A grim chain of events,” he remarked before turning back to the view. It would be a lie for him to not admit, at least to himself, that there was a part of him that desperately wanted to see a full grown dinosaur. That it appeared like he would once again not have the opportunity made him feel gypped.

They continued in vain in an attempt to see anything but were sorely disappointed as time seemed to drag on and on and the dinosaur continued its absence. Kirk let out a sigh just as the hologram came to life, seeming to glitch in and out of existence.

“ _Tyrannosaurus Rex… largest land carnivores… ever lived on Earth… known to be… apex carnivore_ …”

“We’re going to try and tempt the rex,” a voice that was not that of the hologram interrupted, the hologram abruptly dwindling away to nothing. “Just keep watching the field.”

There was a mechanical grinding as a goat tied to a metal post was raised on a concealed platform not ten feet from the force field. Everyone but Spock was unable to hide their cringes at what they knew was about to happen to the goat.

“Here we go again,” Bones whispered, not looking forward to seeing a goat ripped to bloody shreds just so they could observe a wayward dinosaur that shouldn’t even exist. Only this time, unlike the steer from earlier, they would be able to see every gory detail. More minutes passed, but even with the temptation of live bait, the T’Rex remained hidden.

Spock felt his eyebrows knit together in concern; did the tyrannosaurus also have an uncanny intelligence due to the new DNA introduced to the genome? Was it simply playing with them? Was it instinct that kept it away from the obvious kill?

“No carnivore wants to be fed…they need to hunt…”

Spock’s head snapped toward Jim’s direction at the Captain’s nearly imperceptible whisper. He stared at Kirk, feeling now a trepidation of his own he was certain would rival that of the doctor’s earlier sentiments. He realized his error; he realized his emotions must somehow show in his body language when Jim gave a conspicuous and comforting squeeze to his forearm. Such a common gesture, one that went unnoticed by the rest of the vehicle’s occupants and yet had the desired effect on Spock if only momentarily.

Bones leaned forward into the camera above the dashboard, breaking the eye and body contact between Kirk and Spock. “Eventually you plan to have these dinosaurs we’ve all heard so much about actually on the tour, right?” the question clearly aimed at Jones who was no doubt watching.

Kirk could not help but chuckle as he imagined Jones’ reaction to Bones’ question. If only he could have been there personally to see it. Spock was back to looking out the window, watching as the goat became bored of simply standing in one spot and decided laying down in one spot was better.

The car began to move again, leaving the no-show T’Rex to its own devices.

“The essence of chaos,” Spock mumbled as his eyes roved over the expansive terrain.

“Spock?” Kirk questioned, knowing there was something on the Vulcan’s mind that was not sitting well. “The chaos theory?” Kirk continued gently.

Spock minutely nodded, lost in his own thoughts and calculations which looked grimmer each time he acquired more information to apply.

“Ya mind running that by an ol’ country doctor again?”

Spock’s eyes came to rest on Bones. “I will show you.”

The Vulcan grabbed a bottle of water from the built in fridge and opened the cap deftly. “The car should not be moving but it will have to suffice for now.” Spock took Bones’ wrist, shaping the doctor’s hand and fingers so that they formed a ledge while ignoring the astonished eyebrow rise. 

“If I was to let a drop of water fall on your hand, which path would it take?”

“I would say straight down,” the doctor said with confusion lacing his voice, having no idea where the pointy-eared hobgoblin was going with this.

Spock dunked his finger in the bottle, making sure there was enough to accomplish what he intended to prove. He let the drop collect on the end of his fingertip and fall onto Bones’ knuckle where it began to roll down towards the doctor’s thumb, leaving a trail of moisture in its wake.

“It went on a much different path…” Bones sounded disappointed about it and Kirk suppressed a grin. The ambassador said nothing, simply observing as he had done thus far. Obviously he wasn’t comfortable working ‘in the field.’

“If I was to do it again from the same starting point, what would you hypothesize would happen?” Spock inquired.

“The same thing?” Bones asked hesitantly.

Spock went through the exact same movements again but a completely new path was forged by the second droplet.

“It will change each and every time for many reasons,” Spock began, letting go of Bones’ hand. “Variations in your pores, air movement, imperfections in the skin, orientation of the hairs; the list is nearly endless. What matters is that there is no way to, without a margin of error, determine what the droplet will do. You cannot quantify chaos.” 

“It’s the same thing here…” Kirk was deep in thought, not liking where his musings were taking him.

“Yes, Captain. Though on a much larger scale and with infinitely more variables. By introducing the humanoid variable, it becomes even more unpredictable.”

Bones wiped his hand and muttered, “And here we are at the heart of it ourselves.”


	7. Part 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _By:  T'Purr_
> 
>  

As the tour moved on, Kirk's nose was almost literally glued to the window on his side of the vehicle, straining to see beyond the dense vegetation. Despite his anger and disgust at Cyrano Jones for his cavalier and mercenary attitude toward this project, Kirk couldn't help but be awed by the results.

As a boy growing up, he had been aware of the alien lifeforms and civilizations that were known to humanity. In spite of that knowledge, nothing excited him in quite the same way as dinosaurs. Perhaps it was the remnant of a racial memory from the time when humans had confronted huge beasts like wooly mammoths, but something about the dinosaurs spoke to him on a deeply visceral level. Like many generations of children before him, young Jim Kirk had dreamed of what it would be like to meet a dinosaur in the flesh. Maybe not one of the great carnivores like a T. Rex or a velociraptor, but certainly one of the gigantic herbivores they had seen earlier.

Meanwhile, Spock and McCoy had resumed their discussion of Chaos Theory, but with an overtone of antagonism. Kirk knew their bickering was more of a tension reliever than a true argument.

“For complex systems such as this one, we can have only a finite amount of information about it. As a consequence, beyond a certain time the system will no longer be predictable. This is due not only to its sensitivity to initial conditions, but to subsequent topological mixing, meaning that the system will evolve over time.”

McCoy scowled at him. Spock continued unperturbed, in full lecture mode now.

“This mathematical concept of 'mixing' corresponds to the standard intuition, and the mixing of colored dyes or fluids is an example of a chaotic system.”

McCoy sighed in exasperation. “Meaning what, Spock?”

“Meaning, Doctor, that it is inevitable that this system will do something unexpected and therefore, not considered in its planning or design.”

“So what you're saying, Spock, is that Finagle's Law of Dynamic Negatives applies here.”

Spock looked at him blankly.

“Surely you've heard of that, Mr. Spock.”

Spock's expression shifted to the Vulcan equivalent of a scowl, which is to say that he looked as he usually did to the casual observer: completely placid except for the slight elevation of an eyebrow.

McCoy grinned. “Finagle's Law of Dynamic Negatives states that anything that can go wrong, will – at the worst possible moment.”

Spock repressed a sigh. “A somewhat emotionally charged statement, however...”

“However, I'm right, aren't I, Spock!” McCoy's expression was gleeful.

Looking out the opposite window, Kirk ignored the familiar bickering of his two friends. The landscape had changed from dense jungle to gently rolling grassy fields, dotted with clumps of trees. Suddenly he sat bolt upright, seeing movement at the far end of a field. He squinted and shifted his head from side to side, trying to get a better look.

There was definitely something out there. He jerked on the door handle and opened the door a few inches. Freedom beckoned, and he looked around to see if anyone was watching him. Satisfied that Spock and McCoy were focused on their conversation, he threw open the door and bolted from the moving vehicle.

“Captain!” Spock was out of the vehicle and running after his friend before McCoy could utter a word.

“Chaos in action, times two!” McCoy muttered as he hastily followed his friends out of the vehicle and into the field.

~~~

Back in the control room, Jones, S'eff, and DeSalle stared at the video monitors incredulously as everyone poured out of the vehicle and followed Kirk down the hill into the field. The vehicle slowly proceeded, empty, its doors hanging open.

Finally DeSalle spoke. “Uh, Mr. Jones...?”

Cyrano Jones shook himself, as if just awakening. “Stop the program! Stop the program!”

“Told you we needed locking mechanisms on the vehicle doors!” DeSalle muttered as he quickly punched some keys on the control console.

Across the room, Gary Mitchell sneaked a peek at the monitor showing a heavy steel door marked “Embryonic Cold Storage Room – RESTRICTED!”. He glanced at another monitor labeled “East Dock” that showed a supply shuttle. Cargo was being uploaded, and a group of workers were filing aboard. He nervously fingered the communicator that lay on the console in front of him.

~~~

The three officers rapidly strode across the open field, led by Kirk, heading for a small stand of trees. Lagging behind and clearly reluctant, Ambassador Fox brought up the rear of the group, his fear evident as his head darted from side to side anxiously.

“Jim? Where are we going? You see something?” McCoy struggled to catch up to Kirk.

Fox looked around nervously. “Uh, anybody else think we shouldn't be out here? Anybody at all?” The others pointedly ignored him.

Suddenly they all stopped in their tracks. A huge smile spread across Kirk's face as he slowly walked forward. “Spock, look! It's a Triceratops! It's always been my favorite!”

A huge animal, lying on its side, blocked the light at the end of the path. It had an enormous curved shell extending over its head, with two horns above its eyes, and a third on the end of its nose. It was breathing heavily, its breath loud and raspy, blowing up little clouds of dust with each exhalation.

The three men stopped once more as they noticed the figure standing behind the animal. A petite Vulcan woman wearing work boots and khaki coveralls regarded them without expression. Her hair was pulled back in a simple pony tail and she wore no makeup, but there was no mistaking her identity. Both Kirk and McCoy frowned in recognition, while Spock stiffened visibly.

Finally Spock broke the uncomfortable silence, raising his hand in the Vulcan ta'al. “T'Pring.”

“Spock,” she said, returning the gesture.

“I am... surprised to find you here. I believed you to be living on Vulcan – with Stonn.”

T'Pring regarded him coolly for a moment before responding. “Stonn and I are no longer together.”

Spock raised a questioning eyebrow at her. “I take it then, that he found 'having' not to be as pleasing as 'wanting'.”

Her eyes narrowed and her lips became even thinner, but she said nothing in response.

'Good one!' Kirk thought. Aloud he said, “What _are_ you doing here?”

She turned her attention to Kirk, regarding him equally coolly. “I am the veterinarian for this facility.”

'Well that's unexpected,' Kirk thought. He indicated the Triceratops. “Is it all right if I touch it?”

She nodded her assent. “It has been tranquilized.”

Kirk moved next to the animal and stroked its head. McCoy joined him, examining the animal admiringly. Kirk's attitude changed to concern as he noted the dark purple tongue drooping from its mouth.

“Bones, take a look at this.”

McCoy moved to his side, patting the animal reassuringly. He scratched the tongue with his fingernail. A clear liquid leaked from the broken blisters. “Micro vesicles. That's interesting.”

T'Pring joined them, silently handing McCoy a penlight.

“What are her symptoms?”

“Imbalance, disorientation, labored breathing. It happens on average every six point three weeks.”

“Six weeks, eh?” He moved the penlight to examine the animal's eyes. “Are there pupillary effects from the tranquilizer?”

“Affirmative. Mitotic, pupils should be constricted.”

“Well, these are dilated. Take a look.” He moved aside slightly.

“I..., I had not noticed.” She had the good grace to look embarrassed for her professional lapse.

“That's pharmacological. From local plant life.” He turned and began examining the surrounding landscape, puzzling over each piece of foliage. After a few moments, he stopped at a nearby shrub. “This looks like West Indian lilac.”

“Yes. We know they are toxic, but the animals do not consume them.”

“Are you sure?”

“Affirmative.”

“There's only one way to be positive. I need to see some droppings.”

“That will not be difficult.” There was no trace of humor in her voice.

Kirk leaned in close to McCoy. “Really Bones? Dino droppings?”

“Yeah.” McCoy walked away.

~~~

In the control room, Cyrano Jones, DeSalle, and S'eff watched a series of video monitors, clearly displeased with what they were seeing. One of the monitors displayed a satellite view of a huge storm system that was rapidly approaching. Another gave a view from the beach, looking out to the ocean. The clouds beyond were almost black with a tropical storm. A third monitor showed the exterior of the visitor center, where trees were already being whipped around in the increasingly strong wind.

S'eff spoke grimly. “That storm center has not dissipated or changed course. It is only logical to suspend the tour for today. It can be resumed tomorrow.”

Jones growled in frustration. “We don't need more delays! We need a decision from these – _people_!” He spat the final word out in disdain. “Maybe we could speed up the remainder of the tour?”

“It is too dangerous. Besides, they are not in the vehicle at the moment. Even if we could get them moving immediately, it would be difficult to get them back here before the storm hits.”

DeSalle spoke up from where he had been conversing via communicator. “Wind speeds at the East Dock are now in excess of one hundred kilometers per hour. The cargo ship will have to leave before they exceed one hundred twenty kilometers per hour or be grounded until the storm passes.”

Jones wrung his hands briefly, then sighed in resignation. “Tell them when they get back to the vehicle.”

DeSalle turned to the others in the room. “Gentlebeings, the last shuttle to the shuttle dock leaves in five minutes. Drop what you're doing and leave now.”

“Damn!” Jones muttered to himself.

Across the room, Gary Mitchell stared at his monitor, watching the cargo ship. The seas around the shuttle dock were much rougher now. He could barely make out the image of the ship's mate, who was struggling to be heard over the wind. “We're not well protected here from the storm. We may have to leave as soon as the last of the workers are aboard.”

“No, no!” Gary hissed. “You stick to the plan. You wait till they're back from the tour.”

He quickly began to surreptitiously type a series of commands into his console. On his screen, a cartoon T-Rex with Mitchell's face appeared, towering menacingly over a cartoon figure of Cyrano Jones. T-Rex Gary opened his mouth impossibly wide, displaying an impressive mouthful of large, sharp teeth. As the Jones figure cowered in front of him, T-Rex Gary suddenly lunged, engulfing the top half of the man's body with his mouth. With Jones' legs frantically wind-milling in a comical fashion, T-Rex Gary shook his head from side to side, as a cat might with a captive mouse. Suddenly he bit down, severing the torso, sending the lower half flying. A huge fountain of blood shot out of his mouth toward a lower corner of the screen, where it pooled around a menacingly throbbing word surrounded by a forbidding red box. “EXECUTE,” it said.

~~~

As the weather grew darker, Kirk, Spock, McCoy, and T'Pring were grouped around an enormous fly-covered pile of triceratops dung that stood nearly as tall as they did.

“That is one big pile of shit,” Kirk remarked conversationally as he watched McCoy and the Vulcan woman. Both of them had donned plastic gloves reaching to their armpits. McCoy was just removing his gloves as T'Pring withdrew her arm from the middle of the pile.

McCoy turned to T'Pring as she carefully peeled off her gloves. “Well, you're right. There's no trace of lilac berries, yet she shows all the classic signs of Meliatoxicity.” He tapped a finger against his chin thoughtfully. “Every six weeks...” He turned and walked out into the open field a few paces, thinking.

The wind was picking up as the skies became even darker, creating a sense of foreboding. Ordinarily McCoy would have reacted to it, but he was too caught up in his medical mystery to notice. He stood by the triceratops, a short distance from the group. T'Pring observed him dispassionately.

“There's something about the periodicity that doesn't add up,” he muttered to himself.

“I concur, Doctor.” McCoy glanced up, startled to find the Vulcan woman standing so close.

“Triceratops is a constant browser,” she continued. “Constant browsers would be constantly sick.”

“Not just every six weeks,” he said thoughtfully.

A short distance away, Spock bent to examine something. He straightened, holding a smooth rounded stone. Quirking an eyebrow in perplexity, he moved to join McCoy and T'Pring.

“Doctors, I am uncertain if this is relevant to the health problem at hand, but I found this stone that seems to be curiously out of place in this environment.”

McCoy glanced at him in annoyance. “I don't have time for a geology lesson, Spock! I'm trying to solve a medical problem, in case you hadn't noticed.”

T'Pring stepped forward to take the stone from Spock. “Doctor, I believe this may explain the medical problem.”

McCoy looked at her questioningly.

“I believe this is a gizzard stone.”

A light went on in McCoy's eyes. “Of course! That would explain the periodicity, because it's totally unrelated to the feeding pattern.

Kirk joined them. “What are you saying, Bones?”

“It's simple, see. Some animals, like her, don't have teeth.”

“Such as birds,” Spock added.

“Such as birds,” McCoy continued, as if he hadn't been interrupted. “What happens is, they swallow the stones and hold them in a muscular sack in their stomachs,”

“A gizzard,” T'Pring added primly.

“Which is called a gizzard,” continued McCoy. “And it helps them mash their food, but what happens is that after a while, about every six weeks, the stones get smoother, so the animal regurgitates them and swallows fresh ones.”

T'Pring took over. “When she swallows the stones, she swallows the poison berries as well. That is what makes her sick.”

Thunder rumbled as the storm overhead threatened to engulf them at any moment. Ambassador Fox, scared of more than one thing now, put his foot down. “Doctors, if you please. I have to insist we get moving.”

“Jim, if it's alright, I'd like to stay here with, eh, Doctor T'Pring and finish with this patient.”

“That would be acceptable. I have a manually controlled vehicle, and can take Doctor McCoy back to the visitor's center when we are done here.”

Kirk hesitated, but McCoy reassured him. “I'll catch up with you. You go ahead with the others.”

“Are you sure, Bones?”

“Yeah, I want to finish here. Besides, I’d rather not pass that T’Rex zone again to see what’s left of that poor animal…”

Lightning flashed, followed by a tooth-rattling thunderclap right on its heels. Fox stepped forward. “Now, Captain!”

Kirk and Spock turned and followed Fox back toward the vehicle. As McCoy and T'Pring returned to the triceratops, which was starting to revive, Kirk turned back for one last look at his friend.

As he knelt next to T'Pring at the side of the giant animal, McCoy suddenly found himself uncomfortable with his thoughts. Taking a deep breath, he decided to plunge ahead anyway.

“So, are you and S'eff... Are you and he... together?” 'Smooth, McCoy! Real smooth!' he castigated himself mentally.

There was a moment of silence before T'Pring replied. “There is no formal arrangement between S'eff and myself.” She looked at him, her expression unreadable.

'Okaaay. You've got yourself into this, now what are you going to do, McCoy?' he wondered.

When he said nothing, T'Pring continued. “Do you have a particular reason for inquiring, Doctor?”

“Ah, well, it's just that I haven't seen any other Vulcans here, so I thought that perhaps...” He trailed off uncertainly.

“S'eff is currently unbonded. His bondmate died six point seven five years ago, and he...” She hesitated, uncertain how much to say to this “outworlder,” but after all, Spock had named him “friend.” She continued. “We have known each other for many years. When he accepted the position here, he informed me that the position of veterinarian was also available and suggested that I apply. It satisfies several... needs,” she finished, flushing slightly green.

McCoy didn't know what to say to that. He felt a stab of disappointment, but ruthlessly stuffed it back down where he wouldn't have to think about it. “Well, it's nice that you have another Vulcan for company here,” he finally said lamely.

T'Pring gave him another unreadable look, then turned and began collecting her equipment. “We should head back to the visitor center. The storm is becoming dangerously intense.”

'The storm's not the only thing,' McCoy thought grimly.

 


	8. Part 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Pamdizzle for organizing this Round Robin and checking for continuity and AKO for proofing.  You all are amazing.
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> _By:  Cowgirl Dressage_
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Cyrano Jones ran an impatient hand through thick greasy hair.  The storm was wreaking havoc with their systems, the Enterprise’s team was wandering around the triceratops enclosure for some god-forsaken reason, and he hadn’t come up with any ideas about how to convince Kirk and his party that Jurassic Park was viable. It seemed more and more unlikely that the Federation would give its approval to what he considered his crowning achievement.   
   
Too many glitches, too dangerous.  He had counted on S’eff and T’Pring to add credibility to this project.  He had relied on the best security and programmers in Federation space to bring this park alive.  Jones had paid these beings uncounted credits, connived deals, and broke treaties in some cases.  For nothing.  In the end, it would be him and his creditors.  He doubted they’d even let his creatures survive.  
   
Jones experienced a moment of regret.  For all that Kirk thought him a fraud and a con man, and of course he was, he’d begun his career as a dealer in exotic animals.  Ever since he was a boy, he’d been fascinated by the myriad of shapes and sizes and colors life took all over the galaxy.  Jurassic Park was his dream, the perfect storm of his skills; putting together deals and exploring rare alien life.  Now he was watching that dream die, just as surely as the unhatched dinosaur eggs in the nursery.  
   
He shook himself out of his reverie and glanced at DeSalle and S’eff, the former frowning over another apparent glitch and the latter studying the thermal cams of the enclosures closest to their ‘guests’.  He ignored his head programmer, Gary Mitchell, crouching like a malevolent spider over his console.  The man was done.  If In-Gen got the green light, Jones planned on replacing him immediately.  If they didn’t pass inspection, well, it wouldn’t matter.  
   
Mitchell leaned closer to his console, using his body to hide the screen.  His voice was quiet and desperate as he spoke to his contact at the spaceport.  
   
“You have to give me time!  I did a test run on this thing and it took me twenty minutes! You’ve got to give me at least fifteen!”  
   
His contact shook the rain out of his eyes and swore softly under his breath.  “Look, there is nothing I can do.  If the Captain says we go, we go.”  
   
“No!  Listen to me . . .”  
   
“No promises, Mitchell, no promises.”  
   
Mitchell wiped sweat from his upper lip, stomach roiling with tension.  “Wait for me!  I’ll be there in ten!”  He closed the screen and looked over at DeSalle.  
   
DeSalle’s fingers traced the route the vehicles would take, touching the large screen delicately, making minute corrections to the program as he went.  He instructed the computer to reroute his commands and sat back in his chair with a satisfied sigh.  
   
“The visitor vehicles are back on line and ready to return to the garage.”  
   
Jones crossed his arms, clearly irritated but relieved.  “So much for our first tour.  Two no shows and a sick triceratops.  And a giant storm coming in fast.  Not impressive gentlemen.  Not impressive at all.”  
   
DeSalle shook his head and glanced knowingly at S’eff.  “It could have been worse, Cyrano.  A lot worse.”  
   
“The storm has not made landfall.  Worse is a subjective concept.  We do not know whether our systems will function adequately under such circumstances.”  
   
“S’eff, you are just full of cheer today.”  DeSalle’s sarcasm knew no bounds.  
   
S’eff frowned slightly. “There is a forty-eight point six three percent probability that one or more of the security containments may fail if the wind reaches the previously specified velocity.  If that occurs, we will need to be able to access the main security terminal and restart the entire system.  As you recall, that terminal is difficult to reach even under optimal circumstances. I believe our head programmer errored in installing the back up systems.”  
   
Mitchell turned abruptly away from his console.  
   
“You know, I’m tired of this constant criticism.  If our illustrious employer had released his death grip on the Triannian bond monies, we’d have the terminal right here in this building.”  
   
Jones gaped at Mitchell.  “You dare?  The credits went into research and infrastructure. I realize that unless it went to line your pocket, you have no interest in it, but Gary, you overstep yourself.”  
   
Mitchell flushed and stood, taking a step towards Jones.  “You are damned lucky you got me, Jones.  No one else would look the other way, cut corners, and bring ‘investors’ to the table.  If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have In-Gen; you’d be sitting in a bar where I found you telling lies and hiding from your creditors.  I know what it takes to get this fantasy of yours up and running.  I know how to make things happen!”  
   
Jones laughed, “Oh, no one will dispute that, my friend.  You were so successful when I pulled you out of that brothel, addicted to sioshun, carving holes in your rotting flesh.  How far the mighty had fallen, eh?  You could have been a starship captain by now, just like your old friend Jim Kirk. Oh, no you wouldn’t, you were kicked out of Star Fleet Academy.  You think anyone has forgotten that?”  
   
Mitchell’s flush had turned into pale fury.  He opened his mouth to respond, but Jones continued, eyes glittering, while DeSalle and S’eff looked on in alarm.  “We’ve all noticed how you disappeared when I was conducting the tour.  Don’t want your old friend to see you now?  I wonder what he’d say.”  Jones’ voice dropped to a sarcastic whisper.  “Oh, Gary, what have you been doing for the last fourteen years?  Ripped off any more Star Fleet projects?  Siphoned any credits into your own accounts to pay for your drug habit?  Oh, wait; it was gambling back then, wasn’t it? You . . .  “  
   
DeSalle was done.  “Gentle beings, enough!  We still have work to do.  When that storm hits, we need to be ready.  Maybe you should take a break, Mitchell, and get something to eat.  Cyrano, cool off.  This accomplishes nothing.”  
   
“I am in agreement,” S’eff had moved closer to the two men, prepared to intervene if they came to blows.  “I have estimated twenty-two minutes before the storm makes landfall.  A brief rest seems most logical.”  
   
Mitchell trembled with fury.  “Fine, I’m getting something to drink.”  He turned to go but stopped in his tracks.  Smiling, he added over his shoulder, “I finished checking over the security codes, alpha – delta- 0921 will keep compiling for the next, oh, eighteen minutes.  Some minor systems, lights mostly, might go on and off.  Nothing to worry about.”  
   
DeSalle waved him off while Jones ignored him.  S’eff noticed Mitchell’s peculiar smile but considered that humans often smiled for strange reasons.  No one saw Mitchell hit the command “Execute” on his computer as he hurried out the door.  
   
   
\--  
   
Mitchell pulled a satchel over his shoulder and checked his chrono as he hurried through the deserted corridors.  He stopped, breathless, in front of the metal door marked Embryonic Cold Storage.  Glancing at the time again, he counted out loud, “Three, two, one . . .”  
   
As expected, the security panel went dark and the doors opened with a satisfying hiss.  Mitchell stepped into the dark lab, lit only by flashing computer screens.  He made his way to a rack of vials under a sign identifying them as viable embryos.  Taking the communicator from his bag, he opened the secret cooling chamber in the back.  He studied the vials and chose Stegosaurus, Apatosaurus, and Tyrannosaurus Rex.  Once they were secured in the container, he slipped it into a hidden compartment in his satchel, and gave them a possessive pat, hurrying out the door.  
   
\--  
   
DeSalle looked at his screen in alarm, fingers tapping commands mere seconds behind lights indicating security systems were turning off.  
   
Jones leaned over his shoulder.  “What?  What’s going on now?”  
   
“Security systems are shutting down all over the park.”  
   
S’eff strode over and touched the computer screen, looking for over ride protocols.  DeSalle batted his hand away, focusing closely on what appeared to be an unfamiliar code, integrating into the system.  
   
“I don’t know what this code is.  It’s shutting down security doors.”  
   
S’eff leaned in.  “The containment areas?  The enclosures?”  
   
“No, but until I figure out what this code does, anything is possible.”  
   
Jones straightened and folded nervous hands at his waist.  “Stay on top of it.  Mitchell said something about secondary systems going out.  I’m sure that’s all it is.”  
   
DeSalle and S’eff looked at each other in disbelief.  Without knowing what the code was doing, there was no way of knowing what could happen next.  
   
\--  
   
Ambassador Fox was the first one in the jeep, taking the front seat, leaving Jim and Spock to climb into the back.  The automated voice came up, scratchy and eerily disembodied.  
   
“Welcome back to your vehicle, gentle beings.  I note you are missing one of your party.  My instructions are to return to the main terminal with all occupants. Please advise.”  
   
Jim leaned forward.  “Doctor McCoy will be returning in another vehicle with Doctor T’Pring.  Please get underway.”  
   
The jeep began to move on the gravitational track, slightly faster than before.  Ambassador Fox seemed lost in thought, uninterested in the night falling around them.  
   
Spock cocked his head at the rain beginning to pelt the roof while Jim occupied himself by staring raptly at the rainforest passing by.  Spock shifted closer to Jim, drawn to him as always.  He stopped short of touching him and allowed himself to study Jim’s features, shadowed by the darkness and storm.  Despite the complexity of this mission and the irritation generated by Jones’ misrepresentations, Jim continued to express a child-like wonder at the park’s potential.  Spock suppressed an unVulcan desire to see Jim unfettered by responsibility and the pressures of running a Starship.  Kroykah!  It was enough to be here with him now.  There was no logic in allowing his thoughts to turn onto a different path.  
   
After a few moments of watching Jim, Spock lifted an eyebrow and turned slightly in his seat to better speak to his Captain.  
   
“Are you sure leaving Doctor McCoy alone with T’Pring in the enclosure is wise?”  
   
Jim answered quietly, so that Ambassador Fox wouldn’t hear. “Why, jealous, Spock?”  
   
“Hardly, I am merely concerned about the good doctor’s safety, alone in the enclosure with large dinosaurs foraging about.”  
   
“He’s not alone.  T’Pring is with him.  I’m sure she knows her way around as well as anyone here. Besides, she’s a Vulcan.  He’s in good hands.”  
   
“Perhaps, but the vagarities of this mission lead me to expect the unexpected.  In that event, we would be wise to stay together.”  
   
Ambassador Fox turned around in his seat interrupting Spock.  “Well, Captain Kirk, what do you think so far?”  
   
Jim leaned back against the seat and waved his hand dismissively.  “This is a disaster waiting to happen, Ambassador.  The science is questionable and the infrastructure is unreliable. Granted, the idea is brilliant and has tremendous potential, but honestly, I wouldn’t send a cadre of fully armed Klingons down here for vacation.”  
   
Spock spoke up, “Cadre of Romulans, Captain.”  
   
Jim flashed him a smile, “Either, though it might be entertaining to watch them go up against the Velociraptors.”  
   
Spock just shook his head as Fox continued.  “You are aware of the amount of credits tied up in this.  Several large corporations and even planetary economies have a huge stake in In-Gen’s success.  If it fails, well, suffice it to say, it could be a galaxy-wide disaster.”  
   
“That’s been my point all along.  Everyone and everything is so tied up in the profit, they’ve overlooked the real key to this.  Is it safe?  If it’s not, I doubt anyone will find it entertaining.”  
   
Suddenly, the vehicle came to an abrupt stop, lights flashing briefly on the console and then dimming into darkness.  
   
“What happened?  What did I touch?”  
   
Spock leaned forward and tapped the computer screen a couple of times with long fingers.  He frowned, “It was not you, Ambassador. We have lost our connection with the main computer, thus no power.”  
   
“Are you sure? Does anything on this godforsaken planet work?”  
   
Jim barked out a laugh.  “Now you are beginning to sound like McCoy.”  
   
Spock looked over his shoulder at Jim, fingers still trying to interface with the computer.  “Jim, if the main computer failed, the vehicle’s system is likely not the only one that has been compromised.”  
   
Jim gripped Spock’s arm.  “Then, I’d say we could be in trouble.”  
   
“Indeed.”  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read and review! All of us in the Round Robin appreciate your feedback!


	9. Part 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _By: Fugitive_

 

Night had fallen swiftly over the park as the tropical storm pushed inland. Mitchell's hoverjeep hummed up to the garish main gates that led into Jurassic Park.  In a huff, he jumped out of the vehicle and hurried to the control panel on the side of the massive plasticrete supports.

 

He flicked the switch for manual override, relieved when a flat click sounded from within the huge gates as they unlocked. He jumped back in the jeep and slowly nosed into the gates, shoving them open far enough to drive through.

 

He roared into the park grounds, determined to make it to the docks before he missed the last shuttle to the space station.

 

\--

 

DeSalle gave start at his terminal, aghast, as he watched row upon row of colored lights crawl over his screen.  “Woah, woah, woah, what the hell, what the hell?!”

 

Cyrano looked at him, his agitation with the already known glitches apparent. “ _What now_?”

 

DeSalle swallowed nervously, his voice breathless when he answered, “Fences are failing, all over the park!” He shook his head in disbelief as he thought of Mitchell’s parting words. “’A few _minor_ _systems_ ,’ he said!”

 

Jones, in a panic, turned to S’eff and shouted, “Find Mitchell!  Check the vending machines!”

 

DeSalle interrupted with more bad news, “The monitors are failing.”

 

S’eff headed for the door just as all the video monitors in the control room blinked out with a faint electronic ‘zip’.  The three of them froze for a moment, looking at each other, the tension in the room growing to palpable extremes.

 

Cyrano spoke quickly to DeSalle, “Use Mitchell's terminal.  Get it all back online.  He can sort it out later.”

 

DeSalle pushed off on the floor and whizzed over to Mitchell's master terminal in his chair. “Gods, look at this work station!” he muttered in disgust. The man’s terminal was a disaster area and probably a breeding ground for more than one type of disease. With a stroke of his arm, he brushed all the detritus from Mitchell's station—junk food, soda cans, data cards—and onto the floor and began to work.

 

The odd music pouring from the absent programmer’s station, which had been background noise minutes before, was now the only thing DeSalle could hear, it’s tempo increasing by the minute.

 

S’eff stepped forward from his prior position at the control room door, suddenly alert, “Do the raptor barriers remain intact?”

 

DeSalle’s head shot up, alarmed at the mere thought, and he pressed a few keys before replying grimly, “Yes, _those_ are still on.”

 

Jones shook his head in confusion. “Why the hell would he turn the others off?!”

 

\--

 

Back out in the park, the roads were quickly becoming drenched as the storm rolled on.  Mitchell glanced at a sign on a wire mesh fence as he sloshed through the mud:

 

DANGER!  ELECTRIFIED FENCE!

This Door Cannot Be Opened

When Fence is Armed!

 

_We’ll see about that_ , he thought with a smirk before reaching out and grabbing the fence by the bare wire. He flipped a latch, and shoved the door open.  No sparks flew, and he could almost feel himself giggling; he’d be a made man after this.

 

Gary ran back from the fence to his hoverjeep, dropped it into gear, and shot off down the park road. The rain was pouring down from the sky in sheets. In the jeep, Mitchell could barely see through the windshield.  He was driving as fast as was possible while in manual control.

 

The hoverjeeps hadn’t yet been mapped for the park, so autopilot was a non-option unless he wanted to lodge himself into a tree or a pissed off dinosaur. He chuckled a bit at the thought before sobering and checking his watch for the hundredth time in the fifteen minutes he’d been in the park.

 

The windows had begun to fog and he leaned forward, squinting to see through the windshield, wiping off the condensation with his free hand.  A fork in the road rushed into view and he jumped on the brakes—too late!  The jeep careened into a signpost. 

 

Gary swore, threw the door open and hurried to the fallen sign. "To the Docks," it read. _Great,_ he thought darkly, _just fucking great._  He attempted to set it to rights but the directional arrow swung uselessly on its nail.  He clenched his jaws and growled, then stomped back to his vehicle, soaked and pissed off.  He was sure he was supposed to go left and by the time they discovered it broken and the samples he’d stolen missing, he’d be long gone. Who cared about evidence at this point?

 

\--

 

Cyrano hovered over DeSalle's shoulder while he worked at Mitchell's terminal.  The Engineer muttered to himself as he tried another command, ‘Access main program grid…’

 

His fingers flew over the terminal in a flurry of sequences. Suddenly, a buzzer sounded and a little cartoon image of Mitchell appeared on the screen and waved its little finger disapprovingly as it chirped, “You didn't say the magic word!"

 

DeSalle swore, and added, “ _Please_ , God damn it!  I hate this hacker crap!” He smacked the top of the monitor, furious, as the annoying music played faster still.

 

Jones suggested tersely, “Call Mitchell's people at the star base!”

 

DeSalle whisked across the floor in his chair to the nearest comm unit.  He punched at a few buttons, but the unit was dark and unresponsive, “Communications are down too.”

 

Defeated, Cyrano asked quietly, “Where did the vehicle stop?”

 

The three of them shared another moment of apprehension.

 

\--

 

The rain was pouring heavily outside the tyrannosaur paddock and there was a loud “Baaaa!” that sounded from the darkness.  The goat that was brought up from underground earlier was still tethered in the same place, bleating in the storm while the jeep sat still in the middle of the road.

 

Spock, soaking wet, got back into the vehicle and closed the door behind him.  Jim turned to him.

 

Spock reported, “The power to the force field is out.  My communicator did not react at all to the barrier columns, yet in close proximity to an electrical source of that magnitude the corresponding magnetic field should have distorted its carrier signal slightly.  It did not.  The logical course of action would be to stay in the vehicle until power returns.”

 

Jim stared at the Vulcan, who was soaked and looked folded in on himself, “Are you okay?”

 

Spock looked at him oddly, “Why would I not be?

 

Jim replied, “You’re soaked to the skin.  Aren’t you cold?”

 

“It is my mind which controls my response to the sensory information from my body relaying its thermodynamic state,” Spock answered, “My mind also controls my response.  There is no remedy to the state, therefore it is irrelevant.”

 

Jim frowned, “So you are cold.”

 

“I did not say that.”

 

“Fine.”

 

Spock turned and looked out at the driving rain, and dead force field which no longer stood between them and the tyrannosaur paddock.  He was shivering slightly, and Jim moved closer, so that their bodies were touching.  Without meaning to, Spock realized that he had leaned into the warmth.  Jim whispered quietly into his ear, “So if you’re not cold, why are you shivering?”

 

Spock whispered quietly, “Captain, I am concerned.”

 

Jim looked out at the fence and felt very cold indeed.  For some reason, hearing Spock admit to any uneasiness made him shiver when nothing else had.

 

They waited for hours, the two humans eventually becoming bored.  The rain drummed against the roof monotonously.  Fox had lain down in the front seat.  Spock heard his breathing even out and realized that the Ambassador had fallen asleep.

 

Spock said quietly, so as not to disturb Fox, “Jim?”

 

“Hmm, yes, Spock?”

 

“My feet have cramped up due to the reduction in heat in my body.  Is it possible for us to rearrange our positions so that I might stretch them out?”

 

Jim moved along the seat all the way to one end, and Spock sat up, but to the Vulcan’s surprise, Jim pulled him gently over to him, then down so that the Vulcan’s head was in his lap, “Don’t want to catch a chill, Spock, do you?”

 

Spock looked up at his face from the odd angle, and his eyebrows, arched, then dropped, “Human expressions are even more difficult to interpret from this point of view, Jim.”

 

“Interesting.  Do you need help?” asked Jim, and Spock wondered at the soft quality in his voice.  Jim went on, “Maybe if I put my face closer to yours you could see my expressions better?” he leaned down over Spock in the dim light, and Spock felt a thumb gently brush the hair away from his ear.

 

“Sir, I…” Spock was puzzled.

 

“Close enough yet?” Jim was smiling.

 

“I don’t—” Spock was feeling apprehensive enough about his Captain’s odd behavior, the he had temporarily forgotten how close they were to the Tyrannosaurus Rex’s enclosure.

 

“No?” smiled Jim, then asked, very softly, “How’s this?”

 

The Captain’s lips landed, gentle and warm, on Spock’s and the Vulcan gasped, momentarily frozen in shock.  Jim’s lips began to move against his, and Spock found himself responding, the welcome warmth flooding through his chilled body.

 

Spock could suddenly hear the human’s strong heartbeat, boom, boom, boom.

 

He stared up at Jim as the human released him from the kiss briefly, but as Jim leaned back down for another, the Vulcan’s hand shot out to grab his shoulder.

 

_Boom, boom, boom._

 

Jim stared at him, then looked around, his eyes searching the now near-pitch darkness around the jeep, “Did you hear that?”

 

Spock did not answer.

 

“Can you feel that?” asked Jim.

 

Spock remained silent, but leaned over to the front passenger seat when his eye was caught by a plastic cup of water which sat in one of the two recessed holes on the dashboard.  As he watched, the water in the glass vibrated, making concentric circles - -

 

\- - then it stopped - -

 

\- - and then it vibrated again.  Rhythmically.

 

_BOOM.  BOOM.  BOOM._

 

In the front seat, Fox had awakened, and was sitting up, looking confused, “What is that?  M-Maybe it's the power trying to come back on?”

 

Jim twisted around in the back seat, his eyes searching the perimeter outside the jeep.  Visibility was frustratingly poor due to the heavy rain and darkness.  He frowned, “What is that?

 

“What is what?” Fox asked.

 

“The goat,” Spock spoke in a strange sounding voice.

 

Jim turned and looked out the side window.  He could see the area where the goat was tethered.  Or had been tethered.  The chain was still there, but the goat was gone.

 

_BANG!_

 

They all jumped, and Fox screamed as something hit the plexiglas

sunroof of the vehicle, hard.  They looked up to a bloody, disembodied goat leg.

 

Jim suddenly felt Spock’s hand gripping his, tightly, and looked up, startled, to see the Vulcan with his jaw clenched, staring off towards the fence.

 

Fox muttered, “Oh, Jesus.  _Jesus_.”

 

Jim whipped around to follow the Vulcan’s gaze.  His mouth popped open, but no sound came out.  Through the darkness, as a flash of lightning lit up the night, he saw an animal claw, a huge one, gripping the columns which fed the ‘force field’.

 

Jim pressed forward, against the window.  He looked up, up, then craned his head back further, to look out the sunroof.  Past the goat's leg, he could see it.

 

The Tyrannosaurus Rex.  It stood maybe twenty-five feet high, forty feet long from nose to tail, with an enormous, boxlike head that must have been five feet long by itself.  The remains of the goat hung out of the Rex's mouth.  It tilted its head back and swallowed the animal in one big gulp.

 

Fox had been rendered silent but his panic was palpable.  His hand clawed for the door handle, he shouldered it open, and took off out of the vehicle.  He ran away, as fast as he could, towards a plasticrete block outhouse twenty or thirty yards away, ignoring Jim’s desperate but hushed cry of “Fox, NO!”  Jim went to follow him, but a steel band around his wrist, which turned out to be Vulcan fingers, prevented him from so much as touching the door handle.

 

Fox reached the outhouse, ducked inside, and pulled the door shut after him—but there was no latch, just a round hole in the unfinished door.  Fox backed into a stall, frantic as the whole bathroom began to shake.

 

In the vehicle, Spock whispered against Jim’s ear, “Do not move; do not speak.”

 

Jim stared, every muscle in his body tight with tension, in the direction Fox had gone. Spock looked the other way, out the passenger window. Jim whispered, “What was that all about?”

 

“I was going to ask you precisely the same question.”

 

“What?”

 

“Why did you kiss me?”

 

Jim stared at Spock, amazement written all over his face, then turned back to watch out the window, whispering, “Vulcans.”

 

Spock now turned and watched as, ahead of them, the "DANGER!" sign smacked down into the road. Several of the field posts were pushed onto the tour path as the T-Rex shoved past the unpowered barrier.

 

They watched in horror as it stepped over the ruined columns and into the middle of the park road.  For a moment, it simply stood there swinging its head from side to side as if considering its newly expanded boundaries.

 

The T-Rex apparently decided on a course as it strode around to the side of the vehicle and peered down, from high above.  Jim leapt into the front seat and pulled the driver’s door shut.  Neither of them uttered a word for several moments but Jim’s breath came in pants and he was sure he’d never before been this terrified of anything.  He felt the Vulcan’s hand and arm wrap around his chest from the back seat before Spock’s voice rumbled softly in his ear, “Keep absolutely still - its vision is based on movement.”

 

Jim whispered, “You're sure?!”

 

There was a pause, and Spock whispered, “Relatively.”

 

Jim froze as the Rex bent down and peered right in through his window.  The dinosaur’s giant, yellow eye was only slightly smaller than the entire pane of glass.  It then pulled away slightly before craning down again to bump the vehicle experimentally with its snout, rocking it violently.

 

In the back of the vehicle, Spock felt around for something, _anything_ they could use.  His hand fell on a flashlight and he yanked it from the floor board.  He lowered the window in the back of the vehicle, lit the flashlight, and quickly flung it out as far away from the jeep as he could manage.  It landed, thankfully intact, a little down the road, spinning around and around, flashing regularly at the dinosaur.

 

The dinosaur, who had been attracted to the back of the vehicle when the window had buzzed to lower, was now distracted by the spinning light. It quickly strode over to it, its movements fast and sure, and earth-shaking. 

 

Jim felt almost as if he were levitating when the Vulcan dragged him quickly, bodily, from the vehicle to crouch behind it and catch their bearings.  “We must get away from the vehicle, it has attracted its attention,” whispered Spock.

 

Too soon, the T-Rex had lost interest in the spinning flashlight and was turning back to them. “Spock,” managed Jim in a strangled tone, as the creature leaned down over the vehicle, its massive jaws and teeth right next to Spock’s face.  Spock froze, his arm like an iron bar across the human’s chest.

 

Seconds passed, then the T-rex opened its mouth wide and _ROARED_.

 

Spock’s hair was blown straight backwards from his face and he grimaced, his sensitive hearing battered by the overwhelming sound.  The Rex nudged him backwards, a rumbling growl making Jim’s bladder quiver.

 

Suddenly the dinosaur opened its mouth wide, took the whole vehicle in its mouth, picked it up and shook it vigorously.  Jim and Spock stood frozen beneath it, only realizing then how close they were to a precipice next to the road.  There was a huge crash right next to Jim, so close that he had to check to see if Spock was still there.  The Vulcan, white as a sheet, was staring at the now upended and crushed vehicle, which was on its roof beside them. 

 

The T-Rex bent down and nudged the vehicle, and suddenly they were forced backwards, their feet shuffling together, Spock not relinquishing his grip on Jim one iota, as the jeep spun slowly on its roof, forcing them around towards the precipice.  Jim whispered, “Let me go,” and Spock managed to comply, releasing his death-grip across Jim’s chest at last.  The dinosaur’s jaws opened wide and the terrible teeth moved slowly towards Spock’s head, opening wide.

 

Suddenly Jim ducked beneath the dinosaur’s great legs and dashed over to the flashlight.  He picked it up and yelled, “Hey!  Hey!  Over here!” The T-Rex turned and looked at him.

 

Jim waved the torch slowly in front of him from side to side.  The T-Rex followed his moving arm, eyes locked on the torch.  Jim looked over to the wall, and tossed the torch over the edge of the barrier.  The Rex started to lunge after it, then froze and turned back to the vehicle.

 

Unhappy with Jim’s plan, Spock had dived into the front of the jeep and come out with another flashlight from the glove box.  He had leapt out into the road to divert the T-rex's attention away from Jim with his own torch, waving it wildly.  Jim spotted him at the same time that the dinosaur did, “Spock!  Freeze!  Freeze!  Get rid of the torch!”

 

The T-Rex turned and began to stride purposefully towards Spock. The Vulcan inched back slowly, then took off, running at full speed down the road.  His path took him past the plasticrete outhouse Fox had ran into earlier. The T-Rex had clear movement to follow now, and took off after Spock, horrifyingly fast.  Jim swore and ran after them both, but was rapidly left behind.

 

Spock was sprinting faster than the human had ever seen him run, and the Commander approached the outhouse just steps ahead of the T-Rex.  Just as it looked as though he might make it to the safety of the outhouse, the Rex leant forward and flicked Spock into the air with its snout.  It was just a nudge for the Rex, but it sent Spock sailing right through a wooden portion of the wall and, unseen by Jim or the tyrannosaur, past the building and into the jungle beyond.

 

Jim screamed Spock’s name.

 

In the restroom, Fox, cowering in a corner, screamed as the head of the T-Rex exploded through the front of the building, sending chunks of plasticrete flying in all directions.  The roof collapsed and Fox tried to protect himself from the falling junk.

 

Back on the road, Jim got to his feet and watched in horror as the T-Rex nosed around in the rubble. It seemed to find something and as it lunged, Jim could hear someone screaming, the sound piercing his heart as he stood helplessly in the road.

 

The next moment, he knew, would be etched horrifyingly into Jim’s psyche for as long he lived. The T-Rex’s head rose triumphantly from the rubble, a pair of black-clad legs protruding, kicking frantically, from its jaws.  It hitched its head several times and swallowed, then coughed slightly before it walked off further down the road, seemingly sated by the hunt and its second meal.

 

Jim’s world had suddenly gone cold, and he weakly and warily approached the rubble of the outhouse.  He stepped in something sticky, and looked down.  Red blood coated his boot.

 

_Red_.

 

He took a great shuddering breath and began frantically searching through the rubble, calling as loudly as he dared, “Spock!  Spock!” He found nothing, and staggered back to the vehicle, eyes frantically scanning the area.

 

A hand gripped his arm, and a rough voice said hoarsely, “Jim…”

 

Jim turned with a muffled cry of overwhelmed relief and pulled Spock into a quick bear hug.  Spock muttered shakily, “I came to, and I saw…I thought for a moment that the legs were yours…”

 

“Me too!  I thought it was you!” cried Jim, and they both stared at each other.

 

Spock looked at him and said emphatically, “It is apparent that there is much we need to discuss.”

 

“Later,” grinned Jim and dropped his voice to a whisper, “that damned thing’s still out there, and I think it might be looking for another side dish.”

 

Spock raised his eyebrows, then looked over Jim’s shoulder, his eyes widening to dark saucers. Jim whirled, and covered his mouth to stop himself from screaming outright.

 

“Shhh!” Spock quietly hushed, “Don't move!  It cannot see us if we do not move.” Jim stared into the Vulcan’s eyes, and froze.  They waited.

 

BOOM!  A giant, reptilian-like foot smacked down in front of them as the dinosaur approached the vehicle again.  It leaned down, right past them, and sniffed the vehicle, ragged bits of flesh and clothing still hanging from its teeth.

 

Clearly unhappy with its finding, the T-Rex huffed and whacked the jeep with its head.  The vehicle spun as it was pushed from behind by the Rex and Jim and Spock were pushed in front of it, helpless.  They ducked down and scrambled around on their knees, trying to keep ahead of the vehicle, which the Rex was now pushing even closer to the edge of the barrier.

 

Jim and Spock crawled as quickly as they could without drawing attention to themselves, but was moving faster and tyrannosaur was soon looming over them. Jim looked down and realized they were now trapped between the vehicle and the sixty foot drop.  The Rex’s tongue snaked under the bonnet of the jeep and Spock jumped as the tongue tried to wrap around his leg.  The Rex pushed the vehicle closer and closer to the edge, leaving Jim and Spock nowhere to go but down.

 

Finally Spock climbed onto the wall above the drop, and reached down to pull Jim up with him.  The T-Rex roared in frustration before bending down to give one final lunge at the vehicle. Spock saw it coming.  He grabbed a dangling vine from one of the trees which bordered the ledge and yelled to Jim, “Grab hold of me!”

 

Above them, the jeep was now teetering over the edge, threatening to drop right on top of them if they didn't hurry. It groaned overhead, dangling further and further.  Spock looked to the side, eyes searching—mind evaluating possible methods of survival.  There were other vines, out of the line of the vehicle's impending drop.  His feet scrambled along the concrete wall as he tried to swing over towards one.

 

Spock gasped to Jim, “Grab a vine!” but they fell short.  Their momentum carried them back the other way, back underneath the dangerously teetering vehicle, but on the return swing Jim managed to grab hold of a second one.

 

Jim yelled, “I got it!” Spock had no choice but to trust the human’s strength to hold both their weights as they swung onto the second vine just as the jeep fell.  They were clear by inches as it plummeted past them.

 

Spock scrabbled for purchase on a second vine as Jim moaned, “Spock, help!” His arm throbbed under the combined weight of him and the heavy Vulcan that threatened to dislocate his shoulder.  Finally Spock grasped the cable and exclaimed, “I have it!

 

The vehicle crashed through the canopy below them, and the T-Rex stared down at them balefully, but they were safely out of its reach. It roared once more, in a final fit of frustration, and turned away.

 

Spock swung precariously on the slippery vine, over a dinosaur enclosure that held the galaxy knew what in new dangers, the Enterprise out of communicator and transporter range, with no vehicle and no phaser, in a raging storm in the middle of an alien night.

 

“Well…” Jim panted exhaustedly, “ _that_ was lucky.”

 

Spock stared at Jim and quirked a brow, “Indeed, I believe I have just reached a new understanding of the concept.”

 

Jim grinned the entire time as they made their way down to the wonders and dangers that waited below.

 


	10. Part 9

Chapter 9

By cowgirl dressage

Thanks again to Pamdizzle for organizing this and making some much needed corrections.

Lieutenant Commander Scott hated standing in for the captain. He much preferred his engineering decks where the engines sang and his work was specific and concrete, not shadowed in diplomacy and tentative treaties. He wanted to touch what he built. Even an Acting Captain’s responsibilities didn’t suit his practical nature.

At the moment, the Enterprise was in orbit around Tragis, the fourth planet in a binary star system, two days away from Denaris V. So far though, the planet seemed peaceful as a lamb, no indication of any hostilities whatsoever. Meanwhile, the ship’s Captain, First Officer and Chief Medical Officer were marooned. 

Scott chuckled, marooned was probably not the right word, since they were on a soon to be opened amusement planet, complete with cloned dinosaurs. As much as Scott hated to leave them, he guessed they were having the time of their lives, Spock especially. Although, Scott couldn’t deny he had ‘a feeling’ and his intuition was working overtime. He looked pointedly over at Lieutenant Uhura’s communications console.

She shook her head. “Nothing, Mr. Scott. There’s nothing on any channels to suggest an uprising.”

Sulu turned away from the helm. “Why would they send us all the way out here if nothing is happening?”

Ensign Chekov stepped away from the scanners, Spock’s usual station. “Sair, there’s nothing here, maybe ve shud be looking at vat ve left.”

Scott nodded in agreement. “Aye, the Enterprise’s scanners might have picked up something no one wanted them to. Check out our original scans before we left Denaris V, if ye wud, Mr. Chekov.”

Chekov bent to his task and after a moment, looked up with surprise. “Sair, there was a mining wessel two parsecs from Denaris’ moon. It was rigged to mine quadro-rubidium ore.”

“Kin ye tell whose ship it was?”

“BioSyn, Sair.” 

Uhura tapped long fingers on her console. “Scotty, why would a biological research company be operating a mining vessel rigged for a high energy yield ore?”

“Aye, that’s the question and why would the good Admiral want Enterprise’s sensors pointed away from it?”

\--

Cyrano paced the length of the Control Room, swearing under his breath. Tension stiffened his shoulders causing his portly frame to almost bend in half. DeSalle looked up from Mitchell’s console and frowned. 

This disaster was entirely predictable. Whether it was greed and avarice or simple incompetence, they had set in motion a series of events which now endangered every being on this planet. No one had been hurt yet, but it was only a matter of time and they all knew it.

DeSalle had been proud of the work he’d done on the Park. He was thrilled by the credits, which had poured into his account, and he’d been looking forward to getting off this rock and onto a career as an amusement consultant, maybe on Rigley’s Pleasure Planet. Now, he’d be lucky to get a job at Universal-Wal-Mart.

Meantime, Gary Mitchell’s computer continued to count down while playing an old children’s song, London Bridge. DeSalle suspected the song meant something but was too consumed with breaking the encryption codes Mitchell had used to protect the drive. 

Fences all over Jurassic Park had fallen. Only the velociraptor enclosure was still functioning. DeSalle wiped perspiration from his brow. If the enclosure failed, the three remaining animals would be set loose, free to prey on whatever and whomever they wished. It was a terrifying thought. 

Worse, the Enterprise party was out touring the park, no functional transportation, no expertise, no communications, and no way to protect themselves. It seemed clear that they had stopped near the Tyrannosaurus paddock. It may or may not hold, depending on how hungry the dinosaur became and which part of the grounds it currently occupied. If it failed, DeSalle almost didn’t want to live long enough to explain to Starfleet how three of its top officers ended up snack food. 

DeSalle jumped when Jones stopped pacing abruptly and slammed his hands down on the worktable in the center of the room.

“I will kill Mitchell.” Jones’ whisper rose in volume. “I will kill him!”

Jones relaxed momentarily when S’eff, the park’s gamekeeper slipped back into the Control Room, followed by Doctor McCoy and the Park’s veterinarian, T’Pring. Jones eyed the newcomers with relief and nodded to S’eff. 

“Well?”

S’eff’s face remained blank but DeSalle saw worry in his eyes. “I have checked all the logical destinations and Mitchell appears to have left the compound. There is no evidence of his presence.”

The children’s song played faster and louder. Jones’ face grew hot with anger. “Damn it! Turn it off now!”

Leonard McCoy had just about had enough. He walked over to the blaring console and tapped the screen. “You gettin’ anywhere with this, boy?” He kept himself from wincing at his own thickened accent, a true sign of irritation. S’eff glanced over, his eyes unnervingly appraising, and McCoy found himself giving him a polite quirk of his lips. The Vulcan was, after all, the one who had given him and T’Pring the low down on the park’s current situation. 

“Well?” he continued, giving the control room a good once over. “What’s hangin’ this up, then? Seems like somebody here oughtta know how to fix this park when it breaks.”

DeSalle looked up with annoyance and waved a hand at the flashing screen. “First, Doctor McCoy, this is not the Enterprise where you have the experience and expertise to decode this monster. Second, Gary Mitchell was the computer expert, not I. Third, we have a time constraint. See the count down? We need to disable the program before something happens. And we have no idea what is supposed to happen.”

Jones paused mid-pace. “What more could happen?”

DeSalle laughed bitterly, “We’ll see soon enough. Meantime, everyone shut up, I have to go through about two million lines of code.”

S’eff chimed in, “Two million, three hundred and thirty-three thousand, four hundred and one.”

McCoy huffed, “Oh, great. That’ll take no time at all.”

DeSalle threw his hands up in the air. “S’eff, you’re a genius Vulcan, you figure this out.”

McCoy hid a smile behind his hand and watched with appreciation as S’eff uncoiled himself from the wall, stalked over to the computer and pulled up a chair next to DeSalle. 

Jones crossed his arms. “Maybe we should send a jeep to bring back Captain Kirk and his party.”

S’eff looked up from the monitor, “I consider that imperative. Their vehicle stopped outside the Tyrannosaurus Rex enclosure.”

McCoy frowned. “So?”

DeSalle answered tersely, “The damn fence is down.”

“What? Oh-no, no…we have to get them out of there!”

DeSalle sighed, never taking his eyes from the screen. “Yes, however we need to get the main systems on line first. We need Mitchell or another computer expert. If we cannot contain the animals, it doesn’t matter who is in the Park; we are all in danger.”

T’Pring had been silently watching and finally chimed in. “Spock has an aptitude for computer programming. He was taught by one of the leading experts on Vulcan.”

“His father.” McCoy smiled ruefully at the slight Vulcan woman.

T’Pring lifted her delicate chin. “Indeed.” 

DeSalle was fidgeting, having moved beyond irritation to something like panic. “I could use some help.”

Jones pointed at S’eff. “Find the Enterprise contingent, and bring them back. Meantime, DeSalle, keep trying to find out where Mitchell is and decipher that code.”

“Of course.” S’eff stood gracefully, gathered his knapsack and strode to the door. Before he left, he looked over his shoulder at McCoy with a troubled expression. 

McCoy slung his tricorder over his shoulder. “I’m going too. Can’t imagine what use a T’Rex would have with any of them, but I can always count on Jim and Spock to get in trouble somehow. Damn imbeciles.”

S’eff raised an eloquent eyebrow, but some of the tension had left his shoulders. Not for the first time, McCoy wondered what the hell had happened to shake to him so far left of the Vulcan protocol for stoicism. With a final look around the control room, S’eff nodded and led them out to search for the Enterprise’s officers.

Alone with T’Pring and Jones, DeSalle glanced at Cyrano, alarmed. The large blustery man, who for good or ill had imagined and created this park, was white as a ghost. He looked terrified. DeSalle cleared his throat, almost feeling sympathy for the man.

“You know I can’t get Jurassic Park back online without Gary Mitchell.”

Jones wiped a trembling hand over his perspiring face. “Then, DeSalle, I’m afraid we’re done.”

\--

The rain beat down in a steady rhythm, soaking Mitchell as he left his wrecked jeep and trekked down the road to the spaceport. It was hard to hear anything over the constant drum of water onto the thick foliage, but he occasionally discerned the hooting of what he hoped was a bird. 

The fact that he might be sharing the jungle with some of the dinosaurs made Mitchell nervous. He hadn’t programmed the main computer to leave the enclosure fences up. It hadn’t mattered much at the time since he planned to be at the spaceport and off the planet long before the animals realized their containment was gone. 

Mitchell hurried, even as he realized he was not going to make his ten-minute goal to the spaceport. Somehow he’d get off the planet even if he had to steal a shuttle and fly himself. It was past time that people realized his skills and resourcefulness. He chuckled to himself, imagining what Jim Kirk would say about him now. 

Mitchell had been a pariah at Starfleet Academy. Once his classmates realized he was a thief and a cheat, they’d all turned their backs on him, even Kirk. They didn’t know him. They didn’t care. But Jim Kirk had, for a time, and Mitchell hated him for it. Mitchell wasn’t given to introspection, but part of him wondered if his relentless ambition had something to do with proving Kirk wrong.

Now, with the credits from this little deal, he’d be set for life. He’d be able to pay off most of his creditors, the dangerous ones first of course, and maybe buy some sweet little ship and run a smuggling line. He’d do that, all right, right after he had a party with this Deltan triad he knew and had a pinch of sioshun just one last time. Sioshun was his party drug of choice. Granted, he’d let the habit get a little out of hand but he felt so good, and he could forget, for a time, who he was and who he wasn’t.

Mitchell grinned maniacally and punched the air with his fist, the rain and the wind whipping his coat around him. He tapped his knapsack holding the canister full of the embryos, which would be his ticket out of this grim existence, and walked briskly down the road toward the spaceport.

Mitchell stopped abruptly when he saw a shadowy figure standing near a giant tree fern. His heart pounded as the figure, hidden by the rain and shadows, peered around one side, disappeared and peered around another. This happened several times, completely unnerving Mitchell. He didn’t know the animals at the Park well and had no idea what was playing hide and seek with him.

The animal continued to dodge around the tree fern, almost playfully and began to hoot, the sound he’d heard earlier. Finally, it stepped out onto the side of the road. Mitchell squinted through the rain and recognized it as a dilophosaur. 

He honestly couldn’t remember anything about them, but this one seemed friendly enough. It was probably a juvenile, slightly over a meter high and covered in soft gray feathers. It had two crests on its head and a long jaw that curved up into what looked like a smile. The animal’s expression reminded Mitchell of his neighbor’s old coonhound, always on the hunt for treats. 

Mitchell took a tentative step toward it and it hopped up and down, like an excited child. When he reached out his hand, the animal ducked its head and hooted mournfully as though it realized Mitchell didn’t have a snack handy. 

Mitchell smiled with growing confidence. “Come on boy, I gotta go. Got to make my flight. Are you hungry? Someone will feed you soon.”

The dinosaur just tilted its head and hopped closer, standing between Mitchell and the route to the spaceport. He took a step back and saw a stick on the ground. He leaned over to pick it up, never taking his eyes off the animal and threw it into the bushes on the side of the road.

“Good boy! Go fetch! It’s a nice juicy stick.”

The dilophosaur didn’t give ground.

“Come on, lame brain, get out of here!”

The animal hopped closer, startling Mitchell and he went down on the wet pavement like a sack of potatoes. Furious now, he reached for another stick and threw it at the dinosaur.

“Beat it!”

Suddenly, the dilophosaur no longer resembled a friendly dog. It was clearly angry at Mitchell’s aggression. The animal hooted a low dangerous sound and reared back and then forward, its momentum dropping its mouth into the middle of Mitchell’s chest. Using its front teeth, it tore at his shirt and the skin below, exposing bone and sinew.

It was then, Mitchell began to scream. Scooting backward in the mud, he clawed at the dinosaur trying to pull it off him. The dilophosaur stretched out its long three-fingered hand and hooked its talons into the soft flesh of his flank. Mitchell heard the cracking sound of his ribs and sternum mixed with a tearing sound and the fetid breath of the dinosaur. He also heard hooting again, not from his attacker, but from others drawn to the scent of his blood.

Blinded by pain and tears, he never saw the dilophosaur rear back for the final time and catch his head in its vise like grip. Mitchell didn’t lose consciousness immediately. But within a few moments, his skull was crushed between grinding jaws slowly and methodically, until he lay dead, hanging in the dinosaur’s merciless grip.

The feeding frenzy that followed left little of Mitchell. The only thing to survive intact was the canister full of the embryos, which fell onto the road, and rolled into the bushes, unnoticed by either predator or victim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please give this a review if you are so inclined!


	11. Part 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By Cyberrat

Spock gazed intently into the dark shrubbery below them, but the water in his eyes and the absolute lack of light did not allow him to see what was waiting for them. It was quiteunsettling.

“Spock? How about we get a move on?” Jim called from above him, his voice barely audible over the roar of the wind and the pattering of the rain. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to... uff.”

The Vulcan’s head snapped up and he watched as his Captain frantically tried to find purchase on the vine with his slippery boots.

“I can not see the ground, Jim!” Spock called back, but he quickly realized it was a moot point – his hands started to slip and he still felt dizzy and faintly nauseated from his involuntary fly through the jungle. For one wild second he thought of the chances of them being able to pull themselves back up the steep cliff and getting back onto the ledge, but even without the threat of the Tyrannosaurus Rex still lurking up there, he had to concede that their strengths were giving way fast. “I am letting myself drop now, Captain!” he announced. He only had the glimpse of a set of eyes glinting in the darkness, before he let go of the vine and dropped.

Kirk watched helplessly as the tall figure of his First Officer simply fell away through the green darkness of heavy fronds. He did not hear the rustle of anything above the raging storm, which was quite disconcerting, especially after the shock from thinking his best friend to be dead after that monstrous dinosaur kicked him through the air. The Captain grit his teeth, stubbornly shoving all these thoughts to the back of his mind while letting himself glide down on the vine.His heart beat a fast tattoo in his chest, while he pricked his ears, hoping frantically for any sign of his First Officer. The seconds stretched into minutes and he had to concede that, he would soon follow, because he simply was no longer able to pull his weight, when...

“Jim! Let yourself fall!”

The Captain moaned gratefully for two reasons:  Spock was quite all right and – oh my God, _yes_ – he could finally let go of the vine. The fall was not long – maybe six feet – and yet he grit hiswhen his feet hit the ground his momentum brought him down onto all fours. He groaned low under his breath, the adrenalin still coursing through his system making his head spin.

“Captain. Please, we should refrain from staying on this spot for too long – we need to find our way back to the main building as soon as possible.”

Spock’s voice was perfectly calm, as if they had not been fighting for their lives moments prior.

Jim admired that to some degree. He exhaled a breathy laugh and raised his head, only to be confronted with one large hand, that had been shoved into his field of vision. The palm was marred with green abrasions from where the vine had chafed the skin – Kirk suspected his own hands were looking quite the same, though he was not yet able to feel them. A wry grin tugged at the left corner of his mouth and he raised his gaze from the hand towards the face of his friend.

“We’re still in the thick of it, aren’t we?” the Captain asked.

Kirk finally pried one cold hands from the muddy ground and clapped it into the offered one. Spock’s long fingers curled around Jim’s hand and gave a powerful tug, which had Kirk stumbling onto his feet in no time. Spock quickly let go of him.

The canopy of juicy leaves above them did little to shield from the onslaught of rain.

“Spock?” Kirk asked, his voice a little hoarse. He stepped closer to the Vulcan, seeking the warmth of the other body, since his seemed frozen to the bone.

There was a crack from their right side and both men jumped, Spock’s arm coming up again and clutching at his Captain’s biceps. They waited with baited breath, but nothing came forward.

“We should find suitable arrangements for the night, Captain,” Spock answered at last. “I’m seeking a specific type of tree.”

Was Spock not exhausted? Not in the least? Kirk turned his head a little, glancing into the face of his friend. There were faint lines of stress bracketing Spock’s mouth and he felt a little better for it. At least he was not the only one dead on his feet.

Spock continued, “The danger of us both falling asleep on the ground and presenting easy prey is far too high.”

That was... actually reasonable, Kirk thought. He nodded and when Spock finally opened the fingers still curled around his bicep and let his hand fall back to his side, Jim daringly reached for it, loosely entangling their fingers. Dark eyes snapped immediately to his and the Vulcan shot him a long, enigmatic gaze, which was kind of... intimidating. Kirk would have thought he had overstepped a boundary, if Spock had not resumed his walk – their fingers still entangled and not bothering to change that one bit. The Captain let out a relieved breath. He was not at all sure what that was between them, but it had been a long time coming and that it should unfold while in dire, life threatening circumstances was kind of... fitting. He followed the First Officer, looking around them and feeling like Hänsel and Gretel.

 

When they found a tree which fit their needs, having thick branches interweaving to form a platform of sorts which could hold them. It was standing on a little rise just on the edge of the forest, looking over a field.

Spock was eying the rise warily. “I’m not sure if it is prudent to climb the tree under these conditions. The ground is soaked through by the rain.”

Kirk grunted and gripped one of the many vines hanging from the dark canopy above them. “Either that or we sleep on the ground, Spock. I don’t want to walk even one step further.” After verifying that the vine would not rip, hestarted climbing the tree trunk under the disapproving gaze of his friend. “Well? You coming?” he queried as soon as he had drawn himself between the branches. While he waited for Spock to join him, he started pushing the remnants of bird’s nests from the niche.

“This is unexpectedly pleasant,” murmured Spock from nest to him a few moments later.

Kirk settled down to sleep, curling up to save body heat. He grinned as Spock crawled right towards him. Spock settled gingerly next to Kirk; their hips and shoulders touching. It was awkward, but comforting

Kirk really wanted to talk and ask what this was all about; what Spock thought they were doing. Both men fell asleep before anything was said

 

Kirk moaned when gust of warm, moist air wafted over him. It felt heavenly , and he turned to get closer to the heat. Another gust of warm air and he sighed, ready to slip deeper into sleep again, when a massive _crunching_ and _rustling_ made him sit bolt upright and snap his eyes open in alarm. His attention was thoroughly taken by the sight before him.

It was not often that James T. Kirk was speechless. Jim’s mouth became even drier than it had been before and his hand was scrabbling behind him, seeking his First Officer.

“S-Spock! There is –“

“I see, Jim.”

Kirk grabbed Spock’s forearm in a death grip and stared at the dinosaur close enough to touch.

Kirk recognized the large beast from a day – was it really only one day? – prior. It was one of those first creatures they had seen in the park. A brachiosaurus. The morning light glinted off the green and grey scales covering the massive body and the Captain wondered how the beast had managed to sneak up on them. Each step it took must have caused a minor earthquake.

The dinosaur exhaled and there was the moist gust of air again, blowing Kirk’s hair out of his face and bathing him in delightful warmth. The two men sat crouching in middle of the tree and stared like enchanted children at the prehistoric creature.

The brachiosaurus seemed to study them for a moment with large, round eyes, before slowly extending its long, _long_ neck to reach for the branches above them. The large mouth of the creature opened and they had a perfect view of yellow-ish teeth; large and ground smooth and flat from the chewing of leaves and branches.  It bit down the juicy greenery above and yanked it away with a mighty jerk of its head. The entire tree wobbled from the activity and Spock’s arm reflexively shot out and curled around Kirk’s waist. He turned his head slowly, grinned at Spock and turned back towards the dinosaur. It was chewing again, with no pause given to the two strange beings.

And really – why should it? It was _massive_. Kirk and Spock could not even _hope_ to cause it any harm.

“It’s so close...” the Captain whispered. The arm around his waist tightened, trying to pull him back.

“Captain... Jim! What are you doing?” Spock hissed. Kirk was crawling on his knees, right to the edge of the sleeping area towards the large head of the dinosaur. He slowly stretched his hand – a broad, calloused hand – looked exceptionally small in front of the giant lips of the creature.

“What does it look like, Spock? Come on - ! When do we ever get the chance to touch one of those and be as close as now?”

Spock sat back, obviously fighting with himself.

Kirk turned back to the brachiosaurus and pressed his hand against the space between large, horse-like nostrils. The scales under his palm felt dry and warm. The creature inhaled, and the movement of air tugged on Kirk’s clothes and hair, making him lean even further towards the creature, his hand swiping over to the rim of one of its nostrils.

“Do you think he’s sniffing us, Spock?” he shouted, turning his head half way. He did not want to let the dinosaur out of his eyes.

The beast made a strange choked noise, his head jerking slightly. Neither Jim nor Spock had time to move before a warm, slimy... _fluid_ , rained down on. There were a few moments of utter silence – even the jungle seemed to have stopped moving around them. Slowly Kirk raised one arm and started to wipe his eyes, freeing them from the viscous mucus.

 “Not _one_ word, Spock.”

 

It was quite advantageous, that they had been able to find a little pond in which Jim was able to wash not only his clothes but also his person. Spock had opted not to say anything about the bacteria and creatures in the pond – Jim was of the very steadfast opinion that this particular episode was best to be left in the dark and _silence_ behind them. The Vulcan placed the picture of Jim covered in dinosaur mucus in the vast recesses of his eidetic memory to feast upon later.

Spock sat on a tree root near the pond and fiddled with the settings of his tricorder, Kirk washed a few metres away. His attention was distracted by the splashing and soft, tuneless humming to his right. Every now and again he raised his head and glancing towards the powerful body; skin shining slick and wet, muscles twitching under taut skin, before reining himself back in and quickly diverting his attention back down to the tricorder beeping pitifully.

“Did you make it work?” Jim asked.

“Not yet. It is hard to pry the casing open without tools,” the Vulcan answered, trying to unscrew the bolts with his fingernails. There was the soft thumping sound of a body plopping down at his side.

Kirk said, “Here – try using this.” He handed Spock his Starfleet pin. The sharp tips looked much more likely to work than his fingernails.

“Thank you, Jim. I will attempt to – “ He choked on the last words and just _now_ realized his companion was not wearing anything. “Why are you still undressed?” he asked and almost winced in the face of the sudden huskiness in his voice. He quickly raised his gaze from the heavy manhood resting on one powerful thigh and came face to face with his Captain grinning like a madman and leaning back against the thick trunk of the tree.

“My clothes are still drying!” he declared with a suspicious amount of enthusiasm. Spock merely raised one eyebrow and fought against the heat crawling through his body and settling heavy in his belly.

“So it would seem...” he muttered, throwing the clothes an almost baleful glance. Jim had spread them out in front of them where they could dry in the sun. Despite last night’s chill it was already proving to become quite a hot day and Spock wondered how active the wildlife would be under these circumstances. Aside from the brachiosaurus they had not had the pleasure of seeing any of the other life forms. Spock turned back to his tricorder, musing that it was probably for the best.

With his strength he had a certain advantage over the smaller reptiles, but he feared for the temperamental human at his side. Kirk rarely wanted to admit his own fragility. The thought of the man getting injured made his insides churn unexpectedly.

He startled, when the device in his hands was suddenly seized and replaced with something much larger and warmer. To be precise: by his Captain’s naked form, straddling his crossed legs, golden hands falling heavily upon Vulcan shoulders.

“Jim,” Spock managed to utter, his suddenly empty hands fluttering uselessly about the muscled body, unable to decide where they could be put safely.

“I thought about yesterday. We should talk about what happened,” Kirk announced, hazel eyes alight with determination and amusement, while his hands slipped off of Spock’s shoulders and grabbed the flailing limbs of the Vulcan.

“... Now?!” Spock croaked, watching in astonishment as his hands were placed on the sensual swell of his Captain’s hips. He could not keep his fingers from flexing against the firm flesh, testing the structure and rubbing his fingertips ever so slightly over the skin. It felt cool and silky beneath his palms. Jim settled comfortably in the Vulcan’s lap, seemingly completely at ease with the sudden change of events.

“Yes, now,” he said – no, more like _breathed_ – against Spock’s lips, capturing them in a small, chaste kiss, so at odds with the wanton position he had placed himself in.

The Vulcan scrambled for every scrap of rationality; he let his tongue dart out and lick over the texture of his lips, taking in the taste of his friend. “It’s dangerous... we’re potential prey, Jim,” he said, his voice more a growl than an intonation. His hands became tighter around the hips of his Captain for just a second before gliding a little behind him – fingers reaching the beginning of what was the very promising swell of the human’s delectable behind.

Kirk’s eyes flashed excitedly at the word ‘dangerous’ and his hips bucked forward seemingly of their own volition, making Spock aware of the heavy weight of the human’s naked genitals rubbing over his own covered groin. “That makes it all the more fun... don’t you think?” Jim breathed now, his hands finding their way back to Spock’s shoulders before moving again, one cupping the back of his neck, the other gripping deep into the hair on the back of his skull. The Vulcan could feel the pull almost individually on the roots of his hair – it sent a sensual spark down his spine and made his own cock throb in the confines of his pants.  
Spock could feel his resolve crumbling. So long they had ignored whatever it was that had begun to build between them, as though by some unspoken accord. Now, however, it seemed those unvoiced notions were now bubbling over, perhaps at an illogical time…or, perhaps despite the danger, a most convenient opportunity. There would be no shore leave for another six months and they would not have this level of privacy once they returned to the ship.

“Very well... what do you wish to talk about?” he growled lowly, his hands inching a little closer to their destination, pressing every now and again into the fleshy mounds, testing the give of the firm globes.

His Captain surged forward, those teasing, pink lips capturing his mouth in order to devour it hungrily. The hand still fisted in his hair was as commanding as the man it was attached to – directing Spock’s head this way and that, ensuring the temperamental man could plunder the pliant mouth of his First Officer at his leisure.

Their tongues brushed over one another, the first touch of slick heat making Kirk jump delectably in Spock’s lap, while the Vulcan emitted a low groan. It was like a drop of hot liquid had entered his mouth and was now sliding slowly– oh, so slowly– down his oesophagus and into his stomach, where the warmth was rapidly spreading out into the limbs of his body. His one questing hand had travelled upwards, where it bumped against the swell of Jim’s left pectoral muscle. He cupped the firm flesh, a small hard nub pressing right into the middle of his palm and rubbing over the sensitive area.

Only now Kirk seemed to become aware of the fact that only one hand was cupping his ass and that the other one had gone onto quite a detour, for he separated from the kiss with a low groan and let his head fall back, eyes closed in bliss.

Spock leaned slightly backwards, his shoulders braced against the thick trunk of the tree, his eyes fixed on Jim’s face. His fingers were moving seemingly without volition – circling and rubbing and pinching the small nub.

The fingers in his hair loosened a little, the hand gliding down in order to join the other one at his neck, cradling the base of his skull. Kirk’s calloused thumbs rubbed slow, sensual circles into the angular cut of the Vulcan’s jaw.

“I thought I...” Kirk suddenly piped up. He sounded breathless and he was flexing his shoulders backwards, pressing his broad chest into the Vulcan’s questing hand. Spock’s mouth fell open, his gaze riveted to the sight of his Captain writhing naked and beautiful against his lap like the most exotic of dancers.

Jim halted for only a second, enough for Spock to lean forwards and snatch the other nipple between his lips, gently rubbing and licking. Jim gasped, but held perfectly still. He raised his other hand this time and gently started carding fingers through the alien’s pitch black hair, cradling him for a few seconds against his chest, before releasing him again.

“I thought I had lost you... yesterday,” Jim confessed. His voice sounded hoarse and rough, gravelly with arousal – but his gaze was anything but.

The Vulcan shied slightly away from the intense stare his hand falling away so he could twine his arm around Jim’s waist and pull him even closer. Kirk’s heavy erection was pressed against his stomach – he could feel the heat radiating from it even through his clothing

“But you haven’t... Jim...” Spock allowed at last. He was not accustomed to such declarations. It was not the Vulcan way – and yet... his dark eyes slowly drifted back to Kirk’s flushed face and he licked over his lips once, before conceding with a voice dark and full of desire, “Quite the opposite... you _have_ me.”

They halted momentarily to stare at each other, a silent exchange between them. Spock could pinpoint the exact moment Jim realized what he had said, for his extraordinary hazel eyes widened and he grinned.

“Have I?” the human cooed, one hand still gripping Spock’s neck, the other dropping down to be placed unabashedly on the hot swell of the Vulcan’s erection. Spock grit his teeth together, drawing a sharp breath through them, while his Captain– lover? – looked unbearably smug.

“Oooh yes. Indeed I do, Mr. Spock,” Kirk whisperednow, leaning forward and pushing his hot breath into the sensitive shell of Spock’s ear, while opening the Vulcan’s trousers with fast and efficient movements.

Spock was momentarily distracted by the wet slide of Jim’s agile tongue on the tip of his ear, before his attention zeroed in on the point where a large, talented hand was wrapped around the slick shaft of his erection and rubbing with loving precision over the pulsing shaft. While Spock strained against the body pressing him down and sitting snug in his lap, moaning with the deep, primal satisfaction of someone finally getting a taste of release after weeks – no _years_ – of teasing, he could hear the mellifluous voice of Jim snaking into his ear with rough wonder, “You’re so _wet_...”

Spock grit his teeth and pressed his eyes closed, one hand clutching at Kirk’s hip, the other embedded into the flesh of his perfectly round bottom. He debated explaining the natural lubrication of Vulcan males, produced by a gland just underneath the swell of his second ridge, when he opened his eyes and saw the simply _adoring_ gaze of the human, his eyes riveted upon him. The Vulcan forgot what he wanted to say and simply dropped his gaze towards the place where one of those golden, capable hands was wrapped around his twitching, leaking shaft – right next to Kirk’s thicker length. The rosy phallus twitched seemingly in sympathy – or jealousy? – obviously begging for a attention.

Spock was nothing if not a very generous creature. Never shall it be said Vulcan’s did not know how to properly reciprocate...

Kirk’s moan, when Spock curled his fingers around the straining cock, was so obscene it made the tips of the Vulcan’s ears flush bright green. The hiss, though, when he gave one experimental tug, was decidedly more on the painful side. The Vulcan halted, throwing his Captain a troubled gaze.

Kirk grinned in self-deprecation. “A little dry...” he murmured. Kirk eagerly squirmed all the more closer to Spock, while the Vulcan frantically tugged his ruined tunic off, throwing it to the side and ensnaring the writhing human with his arms, clutching him to his person.

When the heated skin of their chests and bellies touched, they hissed in elation. When the twitching, straining flesh of their erections met, they shouted out, once, sharp and with just as much surprise and wonder. The sounds were swallowed eagerly by their mouths pressing against one another once more, while Kirk started the most _delicious_ undulation of his hips. Spock did not need to do more than sit there and hold on for the ride – preferably on Jim’s pert buttocks. Harsh breathing filled their immediate space, while Jim pressed and withdrew and wriggled and writhed, effectively coating his erection with the copious amounts of lubricating fluid from Spock’s member. Granted – there were far more efficient ways to do this... but none of them currently seemed as titillating as this one. Spock’s fingers slid just that little bit deeper into the moist crevice of Kirk’s bum, when an especially vicious thrust had the heads of their cocks rub almost painfully against one another. He was tempted to loosen his death grip on the cool, human flesh, when he realized where the tips of his fingers were pressed. A devious smile curled just the corner of his lips, before he pressed them to Jim’s open, panting mouth and his fingers to Jim’s clenching, tight hole, rubbing with single minded determination.

Jim jumped and _squeaked_ , before a low, wanton moan ripped out of his throat and he thrust his ass back in the hopes of more friction.

“Jim...” Spock growled heatedly against the slick lips of his Captain. Jim’s answer was a desperate whine and the clench of one hand on Spock’s shoulder.

“Spock... please...” he rasped, mellifluous voice just as debauched as the man writhing on the Vulcan’s lap.

Spock leaned back and out of the reach of seeking, human lips in order to watch his Captain undulate sensually against him. Jim did not seem to know whether he wanted to get impaled on the rubbing, circling fingers, or further rub his erection – now blushed an angry red – against the Vulcan’s similarly jerking cock.

Spock made the choice for him and removed his hand from Kirk’s ass – under his loud protest – in order to collect some of his own fluids up and bring the finger back around, feeling until...

“Spock!” _AAhhh yes_. Jim’s hoarse cry went straight to the Vulcan’s cock, causing it to spurt a generous amount of pre-seminal fluid.

“J-Jim... your ... your hand,” he growled, half-lidded eyes heavy on his companion’s flushed face. Jim responded by wrapping his hand around both of their members, fumbling momentarily before finding a satisfactory grip.

Spock himself was overwhelmed by the sheer sensory overload associated with feeling Jim clench tight around his thrusting digits and the sight of his quiveringmuscles under taut, golden skin, coupled with the wrecked moans of the man echoing in his ears.

When the human hand was around their thrusting cocks at last. Jim pumped and twisted and squeezed with the single minded determination of a confessed hedonist.

Spock’s fingers were thrusting deeper within the squeezing channel, withdrawing occasionally to trace the rim from the inside teasingly, before plunging back in deep and searching for that little, spongy nub that would cause Jim to _jerk_ and _pant_ with an open mouth and deeply flushed cheeks.

The Captain truly was a sight to behold. A sight Spock was not willing to share – with anyone.

A possessive, primal urge surged through his body, making the Vulcan growl low in his throat, causing Kirk’s eyes to snap open and throw him a searching glance. “You’ll never go to anyone else again, Jim,” Spock demanded, dark eyes intense and fixed on the sweaty face of his human. Hazel eyes widened slightly in surprise and the flush on his cheeks deepened – if possible – even more. The spastic clench of hot, silky walls around his intruding fingers, coupled with the frantic jerk of the heavy erection against his own, told him just how much Kirk enjoyed this display of possessive behaviour. “Say it,” Spock commanded. A smile graced Jim’s sweaty features. It was slow and genuine and it made something ache deep in Spock’s chest.

“Nobody else again... You... only you,” the human agreed, voice hoarse and utterly _debauched_. It did things to the Vulcan’s anatomy he could not even hope to decipher.

He moaned deliriously.

Kirk moved forward with a triumphant glint in his eyes, his lips right next to gracefully upswept ears.

“Only you,” he breathed again, deep and throaty.

Spock could not help it: his fingers, already buried almost to the hilt in the wanton body of his Captain, jerked heavily at the heady thought of Kirk belonging only to _him_ , driving deep and unerringly into Jim’s prostate. The man on his lap _keened,_ his abdominal muscles quivering under the strain and his cock twitching in the death grip he still had wrapped around their erections. Spock fancied he could feel every single convulsion of the thick shaft against his own, but it could have also been his imagination, as the sensation of Jim’s climax, his cock jerking against Spock’s own and bathing them both in ejaculate, triggered his own orgasm, and he was lost momentarily for anything beyond feeling

 

\--

 

Later, Jim relished the sight of his usually uptight First Officer bathing. They had yet to discuss the new dynamics of their relationship’s expectations and the changes it all implied – but it wasn’t necessary right now. Not between the two of them. Their friendship always had been more dependent on the silent language being spoken between them by their bodies – and he fancied they had spoken quite clearly.

“Well, I’m ready. What about you?”

“I managed to get a signal on the tricorder... I am, as of yet, not sure, whether it is the main facility, but...”

“We’ve no other choice but to check it out, hm?”

“Indeed.”

Kirk threw Spock a broad, mischievous grin. The fact that the Vulcan was yet again perfectly poised and aloof, where his fingers had been knuckle deep inside Jim’s ass not quite an hour ago, was unexpectedly heady. He wanted to draw the Vulcan out of his shell again – and soon. First, though, they had to untangle this whole mess around them...

“I only hope Bones has gotten back to the facility safely,” Jim mused aloud, following the lead of his First Officer through the green shrubbery surrounding them.

 


	12. Part 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _By Carleen_

Doctor McCoy gratefully followed the game warden to a jeep and jumped in. The the inaction and the worry had been wearing him out. The second reason, and it's  one he's not sure he's ready to face, is the steady hum of attraction to this Vulcan. _A Vulcan_ , he thought and swiped a hand across his face. This was neither the time nor the place for pursuing personal inclinations.

"Let's go."  


"Of course, Doctor."

The doctor cut his eyes toward the Vulcan and S'eff caught him at it.

"What are you looking at?

"Nothing." Doctor waived his hand in irritation. "What are you waiting for...Drive!"

The rain had finally stopped, but the roads were thick with viscous mud that grabbed at the tires and threatened to roll the vehicle with every turn of the wheel. The oppressive humidity and smell of exotic vegetation only added to the uncertainty of their otherworldly location. In the passenger seat, Doctor McCoy white-knuckled the dashboard while S'eff careened through the jungle. The fact that the Vulcan expertly handled the four-wheel drive vehicle was lost, for the moment, on Doctor McCoy. __  
  
"Do not be afraid, Doctor McCoy. I am a superior driver and know these trails well."  
  
"Afraid? I'm not afraid of a damn thing!"  
  
"Doctor, let us at least be honest between ourselves. You fear several things. Shall I list them for you?"  
  
The Vulcan expertly slid the jeep into a turn, geared down and aimed its nose at an incline. The tires spun, shooting a rooster tail of muddy water into the air. The Doctor felt his butt rise off the seat, then the tires caught and he was thrown sideways against the Vulcan.   
  
"No, God damn it. Pay attention to your driving!"  
  
The Vulcan spared a glance at the sputtering human. "You may if you wish, or if you think it will calm your fears." __  
  
"What the hell are you babbling about you pointy-eared...This isn't a therapy session and I may, what?"  
  
"...you may hold on to me, Doctor."  
  
"What the...? STOP!"  
  
At the top of the hill, they found another jeep. The engine still running, its headlights just beginning to fade. The windshield was totally caked over with mud and the passenger hanging door hanging open at an odd angle. S'eff brought their jeep to a halt neatly alongside it.  
  
Doctor McCoy jumped out of his seat and headed for the other jeep. “Sweet Jesus...” Only to stop when his eyes took note and his brain identified the nature of the mud on the windshield. It wasn't mud at all.  
  
"Jim..." Years of field experience and medical training guided his feet. He was no stranger to the smell of blood, but this human had been ripped apart. Sharp professional eyes scanned for what his heart could not have survived: Yellow or blue fabric. Tufts of golden or black hair. Green blood. Human blood.  
  
S'eff was behind him. Close enough that he could feel the breath on his neck. "Doctor McCoy, this is our computer engineer, not one of your friends.”  The Vulcan pointed toward the ID on the bag. “Be at ease.”  
  
Doctor McCoy felt the lightest touch of warm hands under his forearms. Instantaneous relief forced him back a step and directly against the game warden's broad chest.  
  
"I thought Vulcan's didn't like to be touched," the doctor commented. Far more rattled than he planned to let on, he knew the emotional stability a Vulcan could provide. So for a few heartbeats he remained still. If that had been Jim or Spock in the jeep...  
  
"You have been misinformed, Doctor. As you know only one Vulcan, your conclusion is erroneous. Come away from here and let us continue the search."  
  
"Leonard. My name is Leonard."  
  
"Leonard."  
 __  
"S'eff come in. Respond, please!”  
  
S’eff released his hold on Doctor McCoy and keyed the mic on his shoulder. “S’eff here.” __  
  
“You two need to come back in. DeSalle claims he reset the system back to default settings. We’ll need to do a complete system reboot. Over.”  
  
“Excellent, Doctor Jones. No sign of the Captain or Mister Spock. However, we have found our computer engineer. He was attacked and killed by one of the animals." __  
  
“Get back here. We need assistance to get the power turned back on.”  
  
"As the Captain and his first officer could be anywhere, perhaps our time would be better served restarting the park's defense systems. We are on our way.”  
  
Instead of entering the jeep on the driver's side, the Vulcan followed doctor McCoy and stood close to him. Once Doctor McCoy seated himself, S'eff gently grasped the doctor's hand and pressed paired fingers together with his own.  
   
“I promise we will find your friends.”  
 _  
_McCoy felt a jolt of reassurance travel like a current through the paired fingers and explode inside his chest. With his other hand, S'eff turned McCoy’s face toward his. "Was that pleasurable to you?” __  
  
“Yes and...comforting. Thank you. I-I think.” Bones stared into the Vulcan's large expressive brown eyes. With Spock, you had to hunt for those little displays of emotion. With the game warden, it took only the courage to maintain eye contact with him. It was all there.  
  
“In that little wide spot in the road where I come from we do it like this." Without another thought Doctor McCoy slipped his hand around S'eff neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

  
"Yes, I have heard of this technique and observed it once or twice.”  
  
“You just let me know if it you don’t like it, S’eff.”  
  
“I will. However, I could not possibly form a sound or logical conclusion without more study.”  
  
“Logical. Now, come back here.” __  
  
“S’eff are you on your way? I should hear the jeep by now!”  
  
The men broke apart reluctantly, hands sliding slowly down shoulders and arms, and fingers still touching. Until finally, the Vulcan climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine.

 

"I'd like to finish this conversation. You know, after our lives are no longer in danger?"

 

"That would be most agreeable, Leonard."

 

With a hint of a smile ghosting his lips, S'eff turned their vehicle toward the compound. The ride was silent, each one contemplating what had happened or almost happened.  
  
DeSalle began talking before S'eff and Doctor McCoy were fully in the room. The note of hysteria in his voice was unmistakable. "Look, we tried restarting the system, but nothing happened." __  
  
"Please define 'nothing happened," The Vulcan responded sharply.  
  
"The computers came back on, but the security systems did not. Please S'eff, stick to your areas of expertise and I'll stick to mine!" DeSalle was practically wringing his hands.  
  
"As you wish, Mister DeSalle." The Vulcan remained quiet. He would wait until the humans made a decision. S'eff felt eyes on his back. Turning his head slightly, he saw T'Pring staring at him intently. He knew what she was thinking and he nearly rolled his eyes in response. Humans were a difficult concept in the best of situations.  
  
"Look," DeSalle said, his voice rising along with his emotional state. "I have to stay at the computer and I can read the blueprints. One of you has to go across the compound and flip the main switch."  
  
Glancing around, McCoy knew he was the only choice. Jones would never make it, and DeSalle had to stick by the computer. He shrugged his shoulders, “Then I guess I’ll go. S'eff can cover me."  
  
DeSalle took Doctor McCoy by the arm and turned him toward the open doors. “Straight across the compound. You can see the building from here. Don't stop for anything."  
  
While they discussed the details, S’eff loaded a Franchi SPAS-12 shotgun and handed Doctor McCoy the .45 caliber pistol from his belt holster. "You are a Star Fleet officer, I may assume you know how to use a weapon?" __  
  
"You assume correctly, sir. Learned hunting and fishing at my daddy's knee." McCoy's attempt at humor disappeared when they stepped outside.

  
"We have unfinished business, Leonard. I expect you to be careful."

"I'll be right back, S'eff," McCoy grinned at the Vulcan.  
  
The game warden released the shoulder support of his shotgun and tucked it against his body. With a curt nod to the doctor he took a position.

  
Into his radio mic, Doctor McCoy quietly said, "Go." __  
  
Then he ran. The ground between the buildings was covered in vegetation and debris. When he jumped over a chunk of pink stucco his foot slipped in the filthy mud. Reaching behind him, he caught himself to keep from falling and pushed on. The stucco left a bloody scrape across his palm.  
  
About fifty yards from the building now. Half the length of a football field. When was the last time he ran across a football field? Junior year at University of Georgia? A lifetime ago. Some training never left you, so varsity running back Len McCoy lowered his head, dug in and focused on the goal posts. He heard a low growl behind him and the sound of reptilian claws skittering across the ground. A heart stopping reminder that this was no football field and that was not a bulldog.  
  
Doctor McCoy hit the door with his shoulder and it obediently slammed open on impact. "I'm in!"  
 __  
Deliberately slowing his own bodily functions, the Vulcan game warden opened his senses to the jungle sounds around him. The small animal noises he could safely ignore. But the birds were quiet now. The growl had come from the direction he was walking. There it was, the almost silent crunch of a wet branch. S'eff checked his weapon and snugged the butt plate against his shoulder.  
  
Another step yielded the squeaky sound of a foot slipping on water soaked foliage. Vulcan ears registered the sound of breathing. By their sounds he identified their locations: One in front and one to his left. Although he very much wanted to see Doctor McCoy again, logic dictated that was no longer possible. His girls were hunting him now. He knew their capabilities and their motives. Of all the animals in his charge, he admired his velociraptors the most. These elegant creatures reminded him of his ancestors; smart, vicious and sanguinary. Often hunting as much for the sheer joy of the act as the need for food. Since he doubted he could actually force himself to kill one of them, he acknowledged the inevitability of dying at their pleasure. _  
  
_While he focused on the eyes glinting through the green leaves about ten yards away, he felt a puff of hot breath on his left cheek and exhaled slowly, "Hello, pretty girl." __  
  
Doctor McCoy struggled to understand what DeSalle was saying to him, while at the same time manipulate the controls."Talk slower, DeSalle. I'm a doctor not a goddamn electrician! Never mind! Just keep talking."

_  
"Then your observational skills and delicate touch are well suited to the task."_

__  
"I'm rapidly losing my famous bedside manner, so get to it! What's next?"  
Accustomed to ruling his own kingdom of sickbay, Doctor McCoy never tolerated being told what to do. Striding so quickly to the next task he walked straight into the eviscerated body of a park worker. The half-eaten body dangled from a rafter. He remembered that adage about once a wild animal gets a taste for human blood and quickened his efforts. _  
  
_He was reaching for the final set of controls when he heard the report of a weapon and shouting. "What's going on? Is it S'eff? Everyone okay?" __  
  
"We're just fine here Doctor McCoy. Please keep working."  
  
There was a sound of running feet behind him. Doctor McCoy had heard the sound of alien footsteps many times. Something was definitely headed his way and it was not humanoid. McCoy glanced down the gloomy hallway, but it was empty. Before slamming the wire security door closed, he flipped the last set of breaker switches.  
  
Then suddenly, his feet left the ground when something crashed into him, knocking him forward against the console. His hands were knocked away from the controls as the creature's body slammed him against the console one more. Hot noisome breath gusted across his face. He could see razor sharp teeth dripping bloody entrails. He closed his eyes and thought of happier sunlit days with his daughter Joanna. Screeching its intentions, the creature launched itself and with it, him. Doctor McCoy tried not to scream.  
  
"Leonard. Leonard, wake up! We must move." __  
  
Large hands smoothed his face... Something wet, like a cloth was wiping his forehead. Was that his mom reminding him about football practice? "Leave... leave me alone. Wanna sleep." He tried to push the hands away, but they were particularly strong and very persistent.  
  
"Doctor McCoy, please open your eyes. We must move from this place immediately. My own injuries prevent me from carrying you."  
  
Something wiping his mouth now. Cool and wet... then hot and gentle... someone was lifting him off the ground...holding him... in their arms? Why? A mouth moving over his. Hot and demanding. "Wake up, Leonard. Kissing you is quite pleasurable but I'd rather you were a willing participant." A chuckle. "Or at least conscious."  
  
"S'eff!" __  
  
Sucked back into his body like atmosphere through a hull breach, Doctor McCoy's awareness exploded amidst sparks of desire. Human hands carded into coarse Vulcan hair to pull the head down for a deeper taste of the foraging mouth.  
The harder the Vulcan's lips press against his the closer he moved toward him. Until finally they rolled to the ground in a tangle of legs, greedy kisses and impatient hands.  
  
The doctor heard the other man stifle a groan. It was not a groan a pleasure but of pain. Doctor McCoy pulled away to examine his patient, his doctor instincts taking over. "You're injured."  
  
"As are you, Leonard." _  
_  
 _  
_ _"Doctor McCoy you did it! You did it! The power is back on!"_

 


	13. Part 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art Provided by T'Luminareth
> 
> Chapter By: T'Nash-veh

Spock consulted his tricorder again as the captain squinted at the far horizon to his right.  They’d left the forested area, since the signal Spock was picking up seemed to be steadier out in the open.    
  
It’s almost idyllic, Jim thought.  Blue skies, fluffy white clouds, warm sunshine and just enough of a breeze to keep it pleasant.  And so far at least, only the large brachiosaurs were to be seen, occasionally raising their heads above the canopy now far off to their left.     
  
“I estimate we are within one point three-four kilometers of the signal’s origination, Captain,” Spock said.  “If it is indeed coming from the visitor’s center, the perimeter forcefield will be just over that rise ahead, and the distance from there will be point two-one kilometers.    
  
A cry sounded faintly in the distance behind them.  It was picked up and repeated by more.  Jim glanced over his shoulder, but the broad plain curved back behind the trees, and there was nothing to be seen.  But even as that registered, the cries sounded closer and as he watched a few animals wheeled into the savannah, followed swiftly by quite a few more.  They were agile, and fast, and the way they moved together…  
  
“Spock – look!  What are they?”  
  
Spock turned and surveyed the animals, still distant but drawing closer.  The numbers continued to grow, one dozen became two, then three.  There were too many to count now streaming into the valley.  
  
“They are Gallimimus, Captain. Herbivores, a small to moderately sized dinosaur.  Prey animals; presumed to move in family groups or…”  
  
“…herds,” Jim finished.  Now they both began to hear a low rumbling as countless Gallimumus ran full-out in their direction.  The lead edge was quickly closing in on their position.  The herd was so close now that they could see the panic in the dinosaurs’ wide eyes.  
  
“I wonder what’s got them…”  
  
“Evasive, Captain,” Spock said abruptly, and grasped Jim’s arm to pull him toward a copse of shrubs and small trees.  
  
Just as they reached that dubious cover, a roar reverberated through the valley.  Instinctively they both ducked down and watched as a T-rex hurtled into the clearing from beyond the trees.  It intersected with the smaller stampeding dinosaurs and the Gallimimus herd scattered.  Some of those wheeling to escape the T-rex ran past the captain and his first officer, with only inches to spare.  
  
Jim’s eyes widened and he gasped as the T-rex captured a panicked Gallimimus that had scattered in the wrong direction.  Caught in powerful jaws, it struggled against the massive teeth.  The sound of its bones as they cracked under the pressure of the T’rex’s massive jaws was loud enough to be heard even over the trampling feet of the rest of the herd.  Jim winced and hunched his shoulders but did not turn his head away.  
  
Spock on the other hand, did not so much as flinch.  
  
 “Notice, Jim, that the Tyrannosaurus rex is unable to hold its prey with its forearms.  Further it is incapable of a sustained run.  To be successful, it must swiftly mortally wound or kill an animal in its first attack.  Some early scientist speculated that this species was primarily a carrion eater; that the massive jaws were simply to break bones to access the marrow.  However, as we see here, it is simply highly specialized.  Like many large predators, it terrorizes an entire herd into fleeing, and then takes advantage of that chaos in order to grab an animal too slow, panicked or confused to avoid its attack.”  
  


Jim grinned at his first officer’s enjoyment of theories brought to life.  “It’s a pity we don’t have the luxury to stay and just observe, isn’t it, Spock.”  
  
Spock responded with a glance of regret that few but his captain were ever allowed to see, and the two men turned and headed back up toward the rise, only looking back once or twice at the feeding T-rex.

\---

McCoy  frowned at S’eff’s injuries as the lights slowly began to come on one, by one, in the maintenance shed.    
  
“What happened?”  There was blood staining his ripped pantleg, but the actual wound was obscured.  The doctor pulled shredded fabric away from S’eff’s leg to assess the damage, then his hand automatically went to his side for his medkit, only to find it was missing.  
  
“Blast – I had it – where did it…”  
“Disregard it, Doctor McCoy.  I can heal my injuries after we return to the bunker.  But it is imperative that we return there now.”    
  
“Well nice to know you don’t need me,” Leonard said, disgruntled, “But what if Jim is injured, or DeSalle…  
  
S’eff regarded him steadily and replied, “I did not say I do not need you, Leonard.”  
  
The doctor met his eyes and grinned.    
  
“But your medkit is underneath the raptor,” S’eff concluded.  
  
“Oh,” said Leonard and glanced over at where the dinosaur lay.  It had looked huge when it was coming at him and all he could see was teeth, and looked even bigger now that he considered the two of them trying to flip it over.  
  
“I do have another medkit in the bunker.”  
  
“Then let us go there.  My leg injury will not support your weight, along with my own, but if you can walk unsupported, with the power on, the barriers will be restored and we need only be prepared to defend ourselves from the dinosaurs that are already within the compound.”  
  
“Only,” McCoy said, “I like that.”    
  
Cautiously, both men lined up at the door and S’eff opened it to look out warily into the compound.  
  
\---  
  
Spock turned his tricorder on the cabled structure – some kind of electrically powered fence – “It is safe, Captain.  The power is still off.  However, the others at the compound are no doubt seeking to restore power.  I recommond a swift ascent and descent.”    
  
Jim climbed up to the edge of the structure and looked suspiciously at the unlit warning light at the top of the adjacent support pole.  “I don’t understand why they used this kind of barrier here instead of a forcefield – and in the one gap in these eroding cliffs where it should be easy to just walk or drive right through.”  
  
They’d quickly traversed the valley only to discover it narrowed to this point where sharp eroding shale on either side of the gap was too treacherous to easily climb.  They could backtrack several kilometers, or climb the fence.  
  
“Perhaps, Captain, they intended to place another road here.  They appear to have been drilling holes for more forcefield supports.”  
  
“Hmm – and ran out of supports?  But why not just link the gap with a forcefield?  It doesn’t make sense.”  
  
“We are discussing decisions made by Cyrano Jones,” Spock pointed out dryly.  
  
“Good point,” Kirk said with a grin.  “Ok – so you’re sure it’s out, Spock?”  
  
Spock raised an eyebrow.  
  
Jim grinned and tapped the fence with his foot. “Ok,” Jim said and then moved in slowly and wrapped both hands around a cable. To Spock’s horror, Jim's scream filled the air and his body began to shake violently. But before Spock could reach him, Jim’s shaking stopped.    
  
Jim turned around slowly and let a slow smile form. “Did I scare you?” he asked with laughter in his voice.  
  
Even as relief filled him, Spock brought his body erect, and his expression back under his control.  “I see no reason for… he began stiffly, but the rest of Spock’s complaint was cutoff by the roar of a T-rex.  Both men exchanged glances that were now deadly serious.  
  
“That sounded a little too close,” Jim said and stepped back to the fence.  
  
“Agreed,” Spock said and swiftly began to climb. Jim began climbing too, but Spock’s greater strength took him swiftly to the top.  Jim was only a third of the way there when Spock had already straddled the highest horizontal cable, and  began his descent down the other side.  
  
Now on the ground, Spock watched as Jim continued to move quickly upward.    
  
Suddenly they were both startled by the flashing of the fence’s warning light.  
  
“Drop, Captain!” Spock exclaimed, but instead his captain just increased his speed, still climbing toward the top.  
  
Spock’s eyes fastened onto Jim’s form. Would he make it?  Unwillingly, his mind counted the seconds, one – he was within two armlengths of the top, two, one armlength away, three – he’d reached it and was bringing his legs over, four –  
  
The fence began to hum. Only point three-two-five seconds later it emitted a low, loud buzz and then the burst of energy returning to the fence threw Jim violently off. As he flew through the air, Spock raced forward into his trajectory.  Jim slammed into him and they slid across the still muddy ground.    
  
When they came to a halt Spock was on his back and Jim’s limp body was draped across him. His heart thundered in his side as Spock carefully wrapped his arms around Jim’s body and rolled them both over to lay Jim gently on the ground. His captain’s eyes were closed and he lay still and pale.    
  
Spock felt for a pulse, and took a deep breath in a moment of relief when he found it.  It was faint and irregular, but it was there.  At least the jolt of electricity had not sent his heart into arrythmia.  
  
“Jim?”  Spock queried, and then frowned at the lack of response.  He could be concussed, but Spock thought he’d been successful in breaking his fall, and neither of them had hit anything but soft ground.  Leaning away slightly, Spock looked down Jim’s body for any signs of breaks or… there was no rise or fall of that powerful chest!  
  
Jim was not breathing!  Quickly, Spock cupped Jim’s head and tilted his chin upward.  Gently he leaned in to press his lips against Jim’s and puffed strongly to transfer air into his lungs.  Spock turned his head and took in a deep breath, and then brought his lips to Jim’s and pushed in another breath.  
  
And again.  
  
And again.  
  
Five breaths,  
  
Six.  
  
And then finally, there was a sputtering gasp, and Jim began breathing on his own.  Spock watched carefully to be sure his chest continued a steady rise and fall, and then queried again, “Jim, can open your eyes?  Look at me.”  
  
“Jim.”  
  
“JIM.”  
  
Dimly Jim could hear someone calling to him, repeating his name insistently.  Blearily, the captain opened heavy eyelids to see an anxious Vulcan elevated over him, only inches away.  Spock’s concerned eyes lit with relief and a hot palm came up to caress his cheek.  
  
“Jim, you did indeed scare me,” Spock said.  “I must request that you cease such behavior.”  
  
Jim smiled and rubbed his cheek against the Vulcan’s hand.  “I’ll admit Spock, it wasn’t nearly as funny the second time.”  
  
The captain took a few deep breaths and blinked his eyes and then said, “Okay, help me up.”  
  
Spock rose to his feet and offered a hand for Jim to grasp.  The captain took it gratefully and rose to stand on shaky knees.  His head was throbbing, but other than that and feeling slightly weak, he seemed to be unharmed.  
  
The captain took a few steps and then increased his pace slowly.  Spock kept close to his side, as if prepared to catch him if he fell.  He soon found that a steady walk was about all he could manage without compromising his balance.  Luckily, they didn’t have far to go now.  
  
The road was visible from the fence, and when they’d cleared the bordering trees, a sign at the edge of the road proclaimed ‘Visitor’s Center .2 kilometers.’  
  
Jim read the sign and grinned.  Spock merely tilted his head in acknowledgement and then began to step onto the road.  
  
 “Spock – wait,” Jim said.  
  
Spock frowned, “Jim, it is imperative that we get you to Doctor McCoy as soon as possible.  It has not escaped my notice that you are quite unsteady.”  
  
“I know, Spock, and I won’t mind sitting down for a while inside a nice safe dino-proof building.  But we might not be alone again for a long time.”  Jim laid one of his incandescent smiles on his first officer and asked, “Kiss me again?  Please?”  
  
Spock looked at his captain.  His hair was all on end, blood had coated and dried on the lower edge of one ear, and a rivulet of blood was smeared along his neck.  Mud streaked one side of his face and his eyes, despite their steadiness, had the slightly bloodshot look of a drunkard.  
  
He was still, to Spock, overwhelmingly beautiful.  
  
Spock took the two strides necessary to return to his captain, and then wrapped him in a steady embrace, and pressed them together.  He tilted his head down and took Jim’s lips in a soft caressing kiss, and then slowly deepened it, nibbling and pressing and tasting.  For uncounted seconds, they thrust their tongues together and Jim’s hands kneaded Spock’s back.  At Jim’s moan, Spock came reluctantly back to terra firma and carefully removed Jim’s arms from around his waist.  “Enough, Jim,” he said huskily, “We will have other moments.”  
  
For a moment Jim looked as if he would protest, but then he smiled, pulled out a pocketknife, walked over to the sign and in a quick stroke carved a one after the two.  
  
Spock quirked a brow incomprehendingly.  The facility would be closed; there would be no visitor’s center, and no need for any visitor to know the distance to it from this point.  What possible reason could the captain have for making the correction?  
  
Spock continued to puzzle over this oddity for point two-three kilometers.    
  
\---  
  
S’eff opened the door more fully, and stepped out, but cautiously continued to hold onto the handle.  He listened carefully and scanned the bushes and trees that had been obscured by the door.  Finally, he let go of the door and motioned to McCoy to follow him.  
  
“Leonard, I will need you to guard my rear,” S’eff said softly.  
  
Behind him, McCoy grinned but managed to keep a juvenile response to himself.  
  
“All three raptors were here until I wounded one and followed it into the maintenance shed.  It would be logical for the remaining two to be here awaiting another opportunity,” S’eff continued.  
  
“You never told me what happened out here,” McCoy whispered.  They were moving slowly, carefully shifting weight from toe to heel to avoid making any loud sounds.  
  
“It was necessary to even the numbers to improve the odds,” S’eff replied.  
  
“Um, in human context please?” McCoy queried.  
  
“I let one catch me so I could wound it,” S’eff replied.  
  
“Let one catch…” McCoy gulped and abruptly decided he really didn’t want to know.  
  
“When outnumbered,” S’eff explained, “defeat is generally inevitable.  However it can be an effective strategy to carefully manage an unavoidable defeat and to transform it into a victory.  I knew the raptors were too clever to permit me a clear shot.  It was illogical to waste limited ammunition by shooting when there was a low probability of achieving a successful shot.  So I waited for one to attack me, and then I wounded it,” S’eff explained.  
  
“When wounded, a raptor’s first instinct is to seek shelter,” he continued, “because the others view any wounded animal as prey and will immediately transfer their attack.  When the wounded raptor went into the maintenance shed, I was able to keep the remaining two in sight while going back to the shed myself.”  
  
McCoy was quiet for a long while, and then whispered, “So if they attack, and we wound one of them…”  
  
“Then the other may pursue it, and we will have an opportunity to reach the bunker,” S’eff responded.  
  
\---  
  
The captain and his first officer entered the Visitor’s Center.  It looked deserted, but Jim yelled “Hallooo!”  Only silence answered him.  
  
Jim exchanged a look of inquiry with Spock, and the Vulcan half-raised an eyebrow and tilted his head in the direction of the doors opening into the restaurant.  
  
As they went through the double doors, Spock thought for a moment that there was a faint sound of movement.  He turned his head, looking across the restaurant’s open expanse for anything that might have caused it.    
  
“Spock?  Hear something?”  
  
“It seemed so, but I am no longer hearing it.”  
  
Spock walked to a nearby table, and pulled out a chair, and then looked pointedly at the captain.  
  
Jim chuckled and said, “Ok – but just for a minute.”  And then as the Vulcan began walking away, said, “Hey – where are you going?”  
  
“To locate a refreshment,” Spock replied.  
  
“Oh, ok,” said his captain.  Spock turned away and went into the kitchen, but a frown formed on his face.  The captain was being unusually passive, and nothing was more worrying.  He must locate the doctor quickly, but he could neither leave the captain alone, nor overtax his resources.  
  
Jim sat dully and waited for Spock to return.  His head throbbed, and he wanted nothing more than to lay it down on the table in front of him and go to sleep.  But they needed to find the others.  And then they needed to… call out… get everyone off the planet.  Shut Cyrano up once and for all.  Vaguely in the back of his mind, it occurred to him that he should have a sense or urgency, but he felt… he felt…  
  
Spock strode back to the table, and worriedly watched the captain blink sleepily at him.  
  
“Here, Jim,” Spock said and handed him something wrapped in paper with a piece of wood sticking out of it.  
  
“What is this?” Jim asked.  
  
“Refreshment,” Spock answered.  
  
As Jim frowned at him, he set a box down in front of them. “According to the ingredients, it is primarily comprised of fruit juices.  It was in the freezer,” Spock added.  
  
Jim turned the box and read, “Try a Jurassic Parksicle!  Delightfully fruity, refreshingly icy!  Six tongue-pleasing flavors!”  The box showed a child holding one by the wood handle, and licking a purple cylinder.  
  
“Hmmm,” Jim said and tore the paper off of the package Spock had given him.  Then he picked it up by the stick and cautiously put his tongue to the green cylinder.  His eyes flew open.  “Lime!” he said.  
  
“Indeed?”    
  
“Yep, and it’s pretty good too; tangy, cold.  You should try one,”  
  
Spock watched as Jim, with increasing energy and enthusiasm, licked up the sides of the Jurassic Parkscicle.  The green column glistened as it began to melt, and Jim had to tilt his head and lick quickly all around the sides to prevent it from dripping down onto his hand.    
  
Every so often Jim licked his lips clean. “It’s kinda messy, Spock, but I think you’d like it,” he said.  
  
Spock felt his ears begin to heat.  He was quite sure he would indeed like it.  
  
As Jim licked another stripe up the ‘sicle, he noticed that Spock seemed interested… in fact, he seemed downright riveted. Experimentally, Jim slurped at the side of the ‘sicle.  Spock’s lips parted ever so slightly. Jim quickly suppressed a grin, and then added a little hum to his voice as he murmured, “So good, Spock.”  
  
Watching Spock from under his eyelashes, Jim ended a long lick up the side by popping the ‘sicle right into his mouth.  And sucked.  And slurped. Spock’s eyes widened and he shifted in his chair.  
  
Jim raised his eyes to Spock’s and kept them there while he slowly, oh so slowly, pulled the green ‘sicle out of his pursed mouth.  Nearing the end, he let it plop out.  He paused a beat, still holding Spock’s eyes with his own, and then licked his lips.  
  
Spock inhaled and then said stiffly, “You seem to be feeling better, Captain.  Perhaps it is time to resume our search for the others?”  
  
Jim grinned and said, “You’re right – I am feeling better.  And once we’ve got Cyrano Jones safely in the brig, I am going to have to thank him for…”  Jim paused as it became apparent that Spock was no longer listening to him.  His eyes were fixed on a point behind the captain.  
  
In a very soft voice Spock said, “Captain, we are not alone.  When I say ‘now’, run for the kitchen.  I will be right behind you.”  
  
Jim tensed and laid the remains of his ‘sicle down.  
  
“Now!”  
  
Jim shot to his feet and ran, with only a bit of a weave, toward the kitchen doors.  Behind him, he could hear the sound of something heavy crashing into a table or wall and cast one quick glance over his shoulder.  
  
The table they’d been sitting at was now laying on its side, and just beyond it a velociraptor was running at them, it’s claws making it slide on the slick floor.  Spock was almost to Jim now, and as Jim put on a burst of speed, they pushed through the kitchen doors at almost the same time.  
  
Immediately Spock turned to push the doors closed.  Through the glass, Jim could see the raptor try to vault over the overturned table, only to get tangled in its legs.  As it tried to right itself, the captain quickly took stock of the room, and then asked, “Why in here, Spock?  There doesn’t seem to be anywhere else to go.  We could be trapped in here until it goes away.”  
  
“The doors in and out of the restaurant are automatic, and open with a push.  No doubt that is how the raptor got inside.  These doors have latch handles.  Unless raptors are intelligent enough to use handles, we are safe from its attack.”  
  
“But wouldn’t it have been better to head down the corridor?”  
  
“Too far, Jim.  You would not have made it.”  
  
Angry at the certainty in his first officer’s voice, and being the cause of trapping them here, the captain stared in frustration around the room.  
  
Spock watched out the glass at the raptor.  It had cleared the table, and was approaching their door.  It was walking slowly now, with what could only be called a stalk, and its eyes were fixed on Spock’s as it moved closer.  
  
Intelligent.  It looked intelligent.  Surely not.  Not even Cyrano Jones would be so foolish as to…  
  
“Jim,” Spock said abruptly.  
  
The captain swung his gaze back to his first officer who was continuing to look out the door.  
  
Suddenly there was a raptor filling the frame of the glass.  Its eyes glared malevolently at Spock, and then when Jim gasped, turned to stare into his eyes.  It seemed to measure him; there was a calculation in that gaze. “Spock – I don’t like the look…”  
  
The head disappeared from view, and as Spock and Jim stood motionless, each trying to hear any movement, loud sniffing came by the hinges of the door.  There was a scratching of claws there, as if it were trying to gain a grip.  
  
The raptor’s head appeared again in front of the glass, and then it put its head back and roared.  It was quieter than a T-rex, but higher pitched, and its calls were more varied.  There were long bursts and short bursts almost in a type of…  
  
Immediately Jim and Spock exchanged glances of horror as comprehension dawned.  Their job had just become infinitely more difficult.    
  
“It’s calling for help, Spock – it’s calling for reinforcements!”  
  
Spock nodded his head.  “Intelligent.  The likelihood that it will discover how to use the door latch is increased by eightyseven point four-nine percent.”  
  
Jim cast his gaze around the kitchen, over the counters, to the large freezer, at the Chef’s tools; pans, and knives and spatulas.  His eyes passed over Crème Brule dishes, and then his eyes lit, and he strode to the dishes and began opening cupboards.  Triumphantly, he grabbed a kitchen torch, and another.  He cast his eyes on the stove.  Gas, yes, good!  Quickly he carried the torches down the front aisle past the stove and set them on the counter.  
  
Just as quickly, he went back to opening cupboards and peering at ingredients, and muttering to himself.  
  
“Captain, I trust you are formulating a plan?” Spock said in an odd voice.  
  
Jim looked over at the door.  There were two velociraptor faces there now.  They were hissing and screeching at each other.  Short bursts, long ones, variation in tone and cadence.  It could be only sounds, but…  
  
“I’ll have my plan figured out, before they figure out theirs,” Jim said resolutely, and then added, “I hope.”  
  
“Aha!” Jim said and waved a bottle of olive oil.  Spock glanced at him quickly, then jerked his gaze back to the door where the raptors were now sniffing loudly near the middle edge of the door.  
  
Suddenly one of the scaled head rose back up to stare through the window at Spock.  It was not logical to expect to see an expression there.  So perhaps it was his human half that percieved a satisfied look in those crafty eyes.  
  
Realization struck. “Jim,” Spock called, “they’ll be trying the handle soon.  Our scent is on it.”  
  
The last word was no sooner spoken than there was scratching at the outside of the handle.  From the inside, Spock stared at the handle as it moved downward a half inch, and back up, down a little more, and back up.  
  
Jim raced for the freezer and back, grabbing at the counters for balance.  He tore open a bag of peas and poured them into a pan.  Put the pan on a counter near the freezer.  Picked up the bottle of olive oil, and the kitchen torch.  
  
“Spock,” Jim called softly.  “Here’s the plan: You’ll open the door on my signal, but immediately move to the back of the kitchen past the freezer.  Don’t use the first aisle to go past the stove; I’m boobytrapping that.  I’m hoping to trap one in the freezer, but we’re unlikely to get them both, so I need you to be ready to throw me up into that false ceiling, and then follow me up.  With any luck we’ll be able to follow the ductwork out of here.  The raptors shouldn’t be as good at climbing as we are – at worst we’ll put more distance between us.”    
  
Spock turned his gaze on his captain and nodded his understanding.  
  
Jim grinned and made his way to the stove, turned on the back burners and extinguished their flame.  Next he ran a line of olive oil across the burners, over the back of the nearby counter, down its front and onto the floor.  He backed away down the aisle to its end, drizzling oil as he went.  
  
There, he paused, picked up the kitchen torches, took a deep breath and then looked at Spock – and nodded.  
  
Spock pushed the door’s latch down, opened it a bare inch, and ran past the freezer to the end of the kitchen.  There he stopped, turned and watched as Jim stood poised no more than three meters from the door.  
  
One of the raptors pushed at the door, and then the second one swung its head around the edge of the door, and took a step in.  The first one scream-snarled and the sound echoed and bounced off all the hard surfaces in the kitchen.  Jim imagined he could feel it in his bones.  Or in his heart.  Their voices were the sounds of fear.  
  
They swung their heads, back and forth, snorting and screeching as they took cautious steps forward, their eyes searching for their prey.  
  
And then one saw Jim directly ahead. “Yah!” he yelled as the raptor eyes met his. The velociraptor snarled and headed toward him, while the second one hung back and watched with avarice eyes.  
  
When it reached the stove it slowed and sniffed at the air, scream-snarled a defiance, and then turned its head back in Jim’s direction.  It stepped forward again.  A stalking, deliberate step that spoke of the pleasures of the hunt, of the joy of the kill.    
  
Jim swallowed dryly and lit one of his torches.  The raptor’s head tilted and watched as he touched the torch to the ground.  Immediately the olive oil flamed up, the flames moving higher and faster as they traveled across the floor.  Both raptors watched the line of fire with interest, the new experience momentarily distracting them from their prey.  
  
Jim didn’t watch.  He quickly ducked down and skirted around the end of the counter and then in an uncomfortable crouch, ran up the middle aisle to pause by his pan of frozen peas.  
  
For just one moment, Jim glanced left around the counter to see Spock standing there, reassuringly solid and steady, waiting for him.  Spock’s gaze intersected with his and then the BLAM! of the gas igniting at the stove whipped his attention back.  
  
A terrible screaming ensued, and the hair on the back of Jim’s neck rose and tingled uncomfortably.  
  
Intelligent, his conscience whispered.  “Vicious,” he whispered back.  
  
As he peered around the counter to the right at the doorway, the raptor that had hung back caught his movement and twisted round to scream at him in defiance.  
   
It let loose one more scream and then it was coming at him, faster than the first one.  Quickly Jim reached across the aisle and opened the freezer door.  It opened into the aisle as the raptor kept coming faster, already learning how keep traction on a smooth surface.  It was nearly skating at him.  
  
It was halfway there; Jim tossed the peas, and then moved into the aisle in Spock’s direction, holding the freezer door like a shield between himself and the velociraptor.  
  
As he’d hoped, the frozen peas acted like marbles; the raptor hit the hard little balls, and went skittered in an uncontrolled slide across the floor.  Its tail whipped twice in a vain attempt to regain balance.  
  
It careened headfirst into the end of the counter opposite the freezer, with enough force to stun it.  Its screech now was muted, and it shook its head, clearly dazed.  Jim watched with unwilling empathy as it struggled to regain its feet.  
  
That empathy cost him vital seconds before he realized his opportunity to shove it into the freezer had come and gone.  
  
“Jim,” Spock called urgently.  His hand was out, and the captain did not hesitate.  He launched himself at a run to Spock, and then took a leap into the air as he reached him.  As elegantly and effortlessly as if they’d practiced the move dozens of times, Spock’s hands reached to his waist, steadied and pushed him all at the same time further upward.  
  
It was only a second and Jim had landed, less awkwardly than he’d imagined, at the top of one of the wide deep ducts that vented air in and out of the kitchen. One hand and then the other reached and gripped the edges of it.  Probably houses power conduits too, Jim thought, and then peered down to see if Spock was going to need a hand up.  
  
What he saw froze him in horror.  The dazed raptor was now only two meters away from Spock.  It had made it back onto its feet, and was snarling and feinting an attack in his direction.  Worse, the other raptor, skin mottled in places where it had been burned, was coming down the aisle.  As before, they were ‘talking’ to each other.  Even as Jim watched, the velociraptor with burned patches sniffed at a frozen pea on the floor before it, and then stepped over it.  
  
His heart stilled in his chest.  There was no doubt now.  They were communicating, and not simple communication, but the conveyence of complex ideas.  Which snarl, Jim wondered, meant ‘little green spheres’.  
  
“Spock!” Jim yelled frantically, “Get up here.”  
  
Instead, Spock took a measured step forward, feinted to the right of the closest raptor, and as it moved in that direction, curled himself into a ball and rolled just beyond it to the left.  In the next moment Spock had uncurled, and to Jim’s horror, grasped the velociraptor’s tail with both hands.  
  
The second raptor scream-snarled and quickened its advance while the one in Spock’s grasp tried to curl back on itself to reach the Vulcan. Undeterred, Spock kept his hold taut and pulled and backpedalled.  Then with that gained momentum and a single powerful arching yank from both arms, he lifted the raptor’s body into the air and swung it around in a circle.  
  
Amazed, Jim watched as the Vulcan displayed the kind of strength that was all too easy to forget until moments like these.  Spock kept and built the momentum, swinging the dinosaur through the air again, and then with a last fast whip of his arms, Spock let it go – with a trajectory nothing less than perfect.  
  
The first raptor crashed into the second, and they both slid and crashed into the back of the still open freezer door.  The lay unmoving and for a moment, Jim wondered if Spock had killed them both. Quickly he shook that off and called to Spock.  
  
“NOW!” Jim yelled, “Get up here!”  
  
Spock heard the anger in his captain’s voice, and behind the anger, the fear.  In a couple of efficient movements he’d jumped upward to catch the lower edge of the false-ceiling’s framework, and levered himself up and into the crawlspace.  
  
The captain glared at him, and seemed to be struggling for something to say.  Finally, he settled on, “Show-off.” And began to lead them over the ducts and away from the kitchen.


	14. Part 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to the tireless and endlessly forgiving Pamdizzle for her editing and late-night support!
> 
> XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Part 13 by T’Nash-veh_

 

McCoy kept alert for any movement besides his own and S’eff’s, and stayed close to the game warden.  Despite S’eff’s expectation, they hadn’t seen or heard any sign of either raptor, and had already traversed half of the compound. 

 

S’eff was ill at ease.  Logically, the raptors should have still been hunting.  Their metabolism required frequent meals.  If they were _not_ here, then –

 

“Leonard?”

 

“What?  See something?” McCoy replied nervously and first straightened and then re-hunched his shoulders as the abrasions on his back stung when the nap of his uniform caught at the roughened skin.

 

“If the Velociraptors are not here, logic suggests they may have scented other prey…”

 

“Jim!  And Spock!”

 

“Perhaps.  Let us move more quickly, Leonard,” S’eff replied.

 

The two men crossed the remainder of the compound at an almost-run and were soon slamming through the doors of the control center.

 

Jones and DeSalle nervously jumped up from their chairs – and then sat slowly back down.  T’Pring stood motionless beside the table covered with an assortment of scanners and communication devices and watched S’eff and the doctor look around the room.

 

“Jim and Spock not back yet?” McCoy demanded.

 

“No – no,” Cyrano Jones said, “But they’re _bound_ to be back any time now, surely.”

 

“Is that so!” scoffed the doctor.  “I’m happy you’re so certain.  I wish I could be.  I was damn near eaten out there – and so was S’eff.  You’ve got raptors loose in the compound.  Thanks your gamekeeper, only two rather than three, but if those damn dinos of yours have killed Jim and Spock…  I promise you Cyrano – I’ll use surgical glue to stick you naked to one of those compound walls and start ringing the dinner bell!”

 

Cyrano paled and then blustered, “Really, Doctor, I hardly-”

 

“Oh, shut up,” Bones snapped.  “Until Jim and Spock show up, I’m in command – and if you think I was unhappy before with your goddamn experiment in godhood – you’re about to find out just how tolerant I’ve been.”

 

Jones swung his chair a little away from the doctor and wrung his hands.  _Everything_ was going wrong.  He must have been born under a cursed star.  All his dreams of wealth and luxury – of being famous and respected were dwindling into nothingness.  The doctor was the most antagonistic officer toward the InGen project, and with him in charge… Cyrano fervently hoped the captain and his first officer would return unharmed.

 

“T’Pring, DeSalle,” McCoy said, grabbing his spare medkit off the table, “Move all the rest of this junk off of here.  Now that the power’s back, maybe you can get one of these to pick up life signs in the park.  I want to know where Jim and Spock are.”

 

“Doctor,” S’eff interjected, “There are hundreds of dinosaurs and thousands of kilomenters to be scanned. To single out two humanoids among–“

 

“And _you_ get up on this table,” McCoy said.

 

“-cannot be done without significantly modifying…”

 

“Now you get this straight,” McCoy interrupted again and he stared firmly at S’eff and then in turn at each person in the room.  “Y’all can make suggestions, but you _will_ not tell me what I can or can’t do.  Now I’m _ordering_ y’all to find my officers.  I don’t want to _hear_ it can’t be done.”

 

S’eff raised an eyebrow as he removed his sweat-soaked shirt, climbed onto the table and leaned back on his elbows. This commanding side of Leonard was oddly… endearing. He watched the doctor efficiently cut away the pant material obscuring the injury to his thigh.

 

“And while you’re at it,” McCoy added, running a decontaminant spray over shallow gashes and deep puncture wounds on S’effs lower thigh, “start thinking about how we might contact the Enterprise.  The space station isn’t going to have staff capable of dealing with this kind of situation.”

 

Bones peered more closely at the puncture wounds and muttered, “Good thing for you I know how to treat Vulcans.  Any allergies, S’eff?  Any unusual reactions to tri-ox, broad-spectrum antibiotics or anti-inflammatories?”  _How the hell did he manage to run with his leg like this?_

 

“No, Doctor.”

 

“Good.”  Bones lined up two ampules and attached the third to his hypo and in rapid succession administered the drugs.  “I’m only sealing the shallow gashes; I want those punctures to drain.  There - that should do you.  Now – do you need a healing trance or can that wait?  I’d just as soon keep you conscious for a while yet.”  Bones looked up at the reclined Vulcan and felt his pulse accelerate.  His lean torso was glistening with sweat and the face was beyond sensuous with lush lips, and dark eyes under heavy lids.  Bones gave himself a mental shake.

[ ](http://s1374.photobucket.com/user/pamdizzle1/media/seff_zpsb4ad4888.jpeg.html)

 

“I am quite satisfactory, Doctor.  Have you forgotten your own injuries?”

 

“Nope.  But mine are minor – just a hard bump to the head and some abrasions. 

 

Across the room, T’Pring watched, her eyes narrowing slightly as she noted S’eff’s concern as the doctor treated his own very minor injuries.  With renewed determination, she turned her attention to modifying the sensor in her hand.  It would be highly satisfactory for the doctor and his comrades to complete their business here quickly and return to their ship.

 

##

 

The _Enterpise_ hung in space, a shining white disc motionless against the blackness of the Tragis System.  She looked elegant, powerful – like a great white shark lazily patrolling its oceanic domain. 

 

Scotty glared at the forward screen.  Sulu had transferred the original scans of the BioSyn mining vessel there, and added a simulation to the sequence – they showed the ship on an approach to Denaris’ moon.  “I don’t like it, Sulu.  It smells of somethin’ gone bad.”

 

“Sir, is it possible there’s a connection between BioSyn and the investigation of the InGen park facility?” Uhura asked.

 

“Aye – possible lass, but I’m findin’ it more worrisome that Admiral Komack ordered us away from Denaris V for what seems to be no reason a’tall.  Too many fingers in this pie, is what I’m  a’thinkin’.

 

Scotty stalked the deck for a few steps and then turned decisively and announced, “Chekhov, Uhura – ask that pet computer of Spock’s to give ye anythin’ it’s got on BioSyn, its ownership an’ operations.  _And_ any communications to and from that mining vessel or the company’s headquarters over the last year or so.  Add to that anythin’ to or from Admiral Komack’s office an’ the same fer In-Gen. 

 

“Vwat are ve looking for?” Chekhov asked intently.

 

“I dinna ken, laddie, but there’s more goin’ on here than meets the eye, and p’rhaps if we gather a bit more information, we’ll puzzle it out.  Meantime, Sulu – plot us a course back to Denaris system – an just keep that in yer back pocket.”

 

“Aye, sir.”

 

##

 

The crawl space was an awkward place for a Vulcan.  Spock could not simply tuck his head for clearance; he needed to bend entirely over, or attempt to walk with knees bent.  The dim lighting and frequent hanging supports required careful maneauvering.  Jim had an easier time of it; his more compact body allowed him to move fairly easily with just a ducked head.  They were attempting a rapid pace, but when Jim slid and nearly fell off the ductwork, Spock reached out an arm to halt him and said, “Slower Jim.”

 

“I’m not convinced they’ll stay stuck in the kitchen, Spock.  We need to get as far ahead as possible.”

 

“Understood Captain, but we will move faster on the ground.  I estimate we have nearly traversed the distance from the kitchen and the farthestmost wall of the restaurant – thirty point two seven meters beyond where we entered it.  The Visitor Center schematic showed a corridor on the other side of that wall, ramping upward toward the Ampitheatre.  And adjoining the Ampitheatre is-“

 

“The lab!” Kirk finished and looked hopefully at Spock.  He hadn’t admitted it but his balance was definitely off, and his brain felt as if it was sloshing from one side of his skull to the other with each alternating step.  Once through those ‘password’ protected doors, they’d be shed of the raptors, at least temporarily.  And the lab would have a communication link to the control room.

 

“Ok, we look for a way down,” Jim said, “and-”

 

Suddenly the ductwork shuddered beneath them and a scraping, metal-wrenching sound echoed in the distance.  The captain and his first officer’s eyes met in consternation.

 

“S’eff told us their jumping capabilities are astonishing,” Kirk said grimly as he scanned ahead for a downward-canted piece of ductwork.

 

##

 

“DeSalle, S’eff – the two of you figure out how to get me that tie-in to the Enterprise that I asked for?” McCoy asked.   He hated being in command damn-it.  Being in charge of sickbay was different.  There he had everything and everyone he needed at his fingertips.  The injuries, the diseases, the parasites – all the odd things that could, and would, disrupt a body – those were the challenges and mysteries he loved solving.  And being able to lay his hands on to start the healing process – gods, he loved that!  There was nothing a satisfying as making a body whole again.  But this; commanding a mission where you didn’t even know what tools you had to work with, or the capabilities of the people around you - _this_ he hated.

 

“We have brought the communications interface back online and it is functioning properly, however it will not reconnect with the orbital satellites to establish outside communication until one of them passes through the line of sight of a station here,” S’eff replied.

 

“Well, how long will that be?” McCoy huffed impatiently.

 

“Fiftytwo point three seven minutes.”

 

“Doctor,” T’Pring said, drawing everyone’s attention to her.  “I have modified this scanner so it will now register only Vulcan-Human hybrid physiology.”

 

McCoy stared expressionlessly at Spock’s former ‘wife’.  Spock’s heritage wasn’t precisely a secret, but anyone who knew him at all knew he identified as a Vulcan.  T’Pring had been in his _mind_.  And she’d just needlessly shared his biology when she could just as easily said ‘Spock’s physiology’.

 

T’Pring handed the scanner to S’eff and said expressionlessly, “It is highly probably the human captain will be nearby.  Spock does not leave him willingly.”

 

McCoy did a double-take. How long had T’Pring known _that_?  For that matter how long had Spock _felt_ that?  Surely she wouldn’t have already known that when she’d chosen Jim as her champion in the koon-ut-kal-if-fee?  McCoy felt a stab of repugnance and almost-fear.  What kind of woman – what kind of sentient _being_ would deliberately set a man to kill the one friend he cared for most?  Was it simple jealousy, or simple evil?

 

McCoy looked away from T’Pring.  Even his southern gentleman heritage couldn’t persuade him to thank her for adjusting the scanner.

 

“S’eff” he inquired, “can you get anything on that?”

 

“I am uncertain, Doctor,” S’eff replied with a slight frown.  “There is a life-form reading registering, however…”

 

“That is Spock,” T’Pring interjected.

 

_How does she manage to look so smug with no expression on that snotty little face?_ Bones wondered.

 

S’eff looked at her with an expressionless gaze of his own and commented, “If that is so, then he is levitating approximately midway between the first and second floors of the Visitor Center restaurant.  Perhaps one of your calculations…”

 

T’Pring managed somehow to look colder, without changing expression.

 

“Wait a minute,” McCoy said.  “Leaving aside the vertical placement is it reasonable for that to be Spock?”

 

S’eff tilted his head at the doctor and responded, “Body mass, thermal measures and…”

 

“Just – yes or no, S’eff,” McCoy suggested.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Well – okay then,” McCoy said, “I’m going after him.”  He hefted and slung his medkit across one shoulder.

 

“I will accompany you,” S’eff said calmly.

 

“You should remain here, S’eff,” T’Pring objected.  “You can be of assistance with contacting their ship.”

 

S’eff did not respond and continued to gather the shotgun and pistol they’d armed themselves with earlier.

 

McCoy watched out of the corner of his eye.  Were the Vulcans gonna fight?  How _did_ Vulcan’s fight?

 

“Are you ready, Doctor?” S’eff inquired.

 

“There is no logical reason to accompany the doctor,” T’Pring persisted.

 

S’eff turned to face her and said quietly, “No.  There is not.”  And then he turned back to McCoy and said with the ghost of a smile, “No _logical_ reason.  Shall we go, Leonard?”

 

McCoy didn’t dare look at T’Pring, or anyone else in the room for that matter.  While his cheeks heated, he hitched his medkit into a more comfortable position, held his hand out to S’eff for the pistol, and with that holstered, headed out the door.  S’eff followed.

 

McCoy stepped out at a quick pace, but was halted by a warm hand on his shoulder. 

 

“Leonard,” S’eff said softly and reached out a second hand to turn the flushed human around to face him.  Gently S’eff cupped Leonard’s face between two palms that felt very nearly the same temperature as the doctor’s cheeks and asked, “I embarrassed you?”

 

“For a Vulcan, that was pretty close to saying we’re mated, wasn’t it?” Bones replied huskily.

 

“Ah, and you aren’t ready for that.  To be truthful, Leonard, I said it largely to annoy T’Pring.”

 

McCoy’s eyes flew to S’eff’s to see the amusement twinkling there.  An honest to god smile was on the Vulcan’s face.

 

McCoy found he couldn’t breathe.  Suddenly he wanted to kiss those curved lips!

 

S’eff’s smile broadened to one of satisfaction and he leaned in and began granting McCoy’s wishes.

 

“Damn!” McCoy said breathlessly when he was finally released, “You’re a fast learner.  And not that I’m complaining, but aren’t you supposed to ask permission first before reading someone’s thoughts?”

 

“I am a little different from most Vulcans,” S’eff replied.  His eyes seemed to have darkened beneath his heavy lids.  His pupils were dilated and his nostrils were slightly flared.

 

“I can believe that,” McCoy said.  “And much as I’d like to explore it… I really need to find Spock now – and hopefully Jim.”

 

“My apologies for delaying you.”

 

“No – no, don’t apologize.  I enjoyed every bit of that.”

 

“I know, Leonard.”

 

##

 

Heads together at Spock’s station, Chekhov and Uhura looked grave as inconclusive but suspicous information emerged.

 

“Well then?  What have you?” Scotty inquired when he couldn’t take the tiny headshakes and bit lips any longer.

 

Uhura and Chekov swiveled to face him.  “Sir,” Chekhov began, “There haf been sevweral high ovwicials from three planetary sytems on the InGen corporate board, but only vwone of these is still an InGen board member.  All of those ovwicials are currently BioSyn boardmembers.  As Mr. Spock already said, there is _no_ registration of quadro-rubidium deposits in this system, yet the planets of Xrces, Triann and Corinth have each recorded millions of credits in sales of that ore.

 

“If BioSyn’s selling, who’s buying?” Scott asked.

 

“It is not clear that BioSyn _was_ the seller, Sir.  The registered names of both sellers and buyers are corporations with wery complicated ownershep.  So far these have led only to other corporations.  But it is inconceivwable that the regulatory agencies on each of these planets are unaware of the sales.”

 

“So there may be a connection between our planetary officials and the sales of this ore?”

 

“I vwould say it is highly likely.  Account numbers are not avwailable, but all transactions appear to haf been transferred by the Orion Trust.”

 

Scotty frowned.  It was a rarely kept secret that Orion Trust was the banking system of choice for money laundering, black market dealings and any transaction someone might have reason to keep hidden.

 

Chekhov turned and nodded to Uhura, and she smoothly picked up the narrative.  “A handful of communications suggest something odd.  Many patent applications have been submitted by each company.  The earliest of these were by InGen shortly after the formation of that company.  However over the last year, an increasing number of submissions were sent by BioSyn.  That would not appear suspicious except that the application fees were paid for from accounts-”

 

“Held by the Orion Trust,” Scotty interjected.

 

“Yes.”

 

“What else, lass?”

 

“Officials from Xrces, Triann and Corinth in earliest messages were communicating regularly corresponding with scheduled board meeting.  But as one after the other of them left InGen and became board members at BioSyn, messages went back and forth much more frequently.  I scanned these for repetitive names, and a Mr. Smith was referenced in a significant number of them – particularly when budgetary constraints were being discussed.”               

 

Scotty narrowed his eyes and then asked, “But no Mr. Smith sending or receiving?”

 

“No sir – which suggest that the name was being used as code for a silent partner or corporate backer.”

 

“Hmmm.  Seems we’ve naught but conjecture,” Mr. Scott responded.

 

“There was one other thing sir,” Uhura added.  “I located and decoded three out of four scrambled messages.  The earliest was sent a little over a year ago from BioSyn to Admiral Komack’s office, and said ‘Mr. Smith requested to attend meeting.”

 

“Any reply, lass?” Scotty asked hopefully.

 

“None.  Or at least none I can verify through communications. As you know, the Admiral has a large staff; more than a couple dozen of them co-located in his office complex.  Any one of them could easily have met in person with a BioSyn representative, or this Mr. Smith, and it might simply have been an informational message – to let Admiral Komack’s office know about attendees at an upcoming meeting.”  Uhura shrugged and then continued, “Then ten months ago a coded message was sent from the Administrator of the Office of Planetary Works on Triann to the CEO of BioSy.  It said ‘I’ve voiced our concerns and the Admiral has satisfied us that there will be significant support for the project.’”

 

“Eh – I dunna suppose it said which admiral, or which project?”

 

“No, that would be too easy,” Uhura said with a smile. “The third decoded message was sent five days before Enterprise entered orbit around Denaris V from InGen to BioSyn’s corporate office using an older Starfleet code.  It wasn’t directed to a person or department and said only ‘two days 1300 hours’.  There was no response – but there _was_ a visit by BioSyn CEO Lewis Dodgson to Denaris Space Station two days later by Denaris V reckoning at 1300 hours.  However that visit isn’t unusual.  Station Transport records show BioSyn executives arrive and depart several times a week.” 

 

Scotty let out a long slow sigh.  He’d hoped for a concrete reason to return to the Denaris system, but this wasn’t enough.

 

“Sir –“ Uhura said, “The fourth scrambled message?”

 

“The one you couldn’t decode, lass?”

 

“Yes.  I couldn’t read the message - it was too short and didn’t use any codes or scrambles I recognize, but it was a reply sent _directly_ to BioSyn CEO Lewis Dodgson from Lieutenant Commander Jens Hansen.  The original message it was responding to was just… gone.  Someone _very_ skilled must have purged the message from BioSyn’s outgoing queue and every routing station inbetween.  Sir, the message was sent on the same day that we were ordered to the Tragis system.”  Uhura paused, met Scotty’s eyes and added meaningfully, “and Jens Hansen is Admiral Komack’s personal aid-de-camp.”

 

Mr. Scott straightened in his chair, his eyes flashing and with a grim smile commanded, “Mr. Sulu lay in the course for Denaris system.  There’s something rotten in Denmark – and I want Captain Kirk to hear all about it. Uhura – keep yer ears on lass – you mark my word Jim Kirk has once again managed to find trouble in a lovely little vacation spot.  We’ll want to be ready to answer his hail.  Mr. Chekhov keep digging thru that corporate ownership.  I’ve a hunch that will be important.”

 

Sulu rapidly laid in the course for a direct return to Denaris V and turned to Scotty, eyes expectant and said, “Course laid in, Sir.”

 

“Verra well… ahead Warp 8.”

 

##

 

“Here, Spock!” Kirk directed his first officer’s gaze to a piece of ductwork that was angled downward by ninety degrees.  Spock moved to the edge of it and swung his legs over to kick at the suspended ceiling below them.  At his third kick, the panel fell through its supports and the two officers peered through the opening.  “Restaurant?” Kirk asked doubtfully.  There were no tables or chairs in view, but the flooring looked…

 

_Thrummm_.  The ductwork reverberated with a particularly heavy step of a Velociraptor.  They were still out of sight but sounded closer with each passing minute.  The slight advantage they’d gained was quickly eroding.

 

“I would judge that to be correct, Captain.”

 

“Ok.  Can you drop down first and then help keep me from landing on my backside?” Kirk asked.

 

Spock showed him a rare smile; no more than a slight crinkling of his eyes and an almost pursed mouth, and then lithely swung his body over the opening and dropped to the floor.  His flexed knees and ankles absorbed the force, and he immediately lifted his eyes up to his captain, kneeling on the ductwork and peering down at him.  Kirk swung his legs over the side of the duct and then pushed off.  Spock moved forward to catch the captain’s body against his own.  His arms wrapped around Jim’s hips and his fingers clamped into firm flesh.  Firm rounded flesh.  Jim’s face grinned down at him and Spock found himself releasing his grip only gradually; supporting the slow slide of Jim’s body downward, thereby rubbing them together until finally there were only centimeters left between the captain’s feet and the floor.

 

Kirk laughed. 

 

That broke the spell and Spock dropped the captain that last little distance and began looking around the room.  They were indeed within a couple of meters from the restaurant’s wall, and as Spock had expected, there was a wide vaulted doorway leading to a vaulted corridor that ramped upward and curved off to the right.  A symbol for amphitheatre and an arrow pointing to the corridor was discretely posted beside the door.

 

“Finally something going our way,” Jim huffed in relief as Spock pointed at the sign.  Both men took off at a rapid trot.  Jim felt an awkward hitch in his gait even at that moderate pace, and his head pounded with pain as each foot hit the ground.  He found himself thinking longingly of Bones’ diagnostic bed.  He’ll never know, he promised himself as he gritted his teeth and tried to force the pain into the background.

 

##

 

“Are we close, S’eff?” McCoy asked, panting as he and the Vulcan ran toward the t-junction of their hall with the wide vaulted corridor ahead.  S’eff had said a left turn would lead to the restaurant; a right turn to the amphitheatre.  Bones had no reason, but some second sense within him was conveying urgency.  Jim needed him, he was sure of it.  How he knew, he couldn’t say, he just _knew_.

 

S’effs interest in Leonard continued to intensify as he observed his reactions and behavior.  The doctor seemed to be passionate about everything, and was now seemingly experiencing some kind of intuitive prescience.  His urgency had no evidential or logical basis, yet he followed his instinct unhesitantly.  S’eff spared another glance at the scanner.

 

“Yes, Leonard.  And your friend Spock is no longer levitating.  He appears to be moving at a rapid rate upon the surface of the first floor.  We should be intersecting with him-“

 

Ooomph!

 

S’eff stepped back as the Vulcan first officer and surgeon plowed into each other with serious force, and landed in a pile in front of him.

 

He watched as Mr. Spock cast a curiously resigned look at Leonard and then untangled his limbs from the doctor’s and rose to his feet.  He did not offer a hand to the doctor.

 

S’eff stepped forward to take Leonard’s elbow and supported his somewhat awkward rise from the floor.  “Thanks,” McCoy muttered and cast an oddly irritated gaze at the first officer.  S’eff had barely removed his hand from Leonard’s elbow when the captain lurched into view behind Mr. Spock.

 

He looked horrible.  There was dried blood and mud along his face and neck, abrasions on the back of his hands, and his skin was pale in spite of his obvious exertion.  As he came to a halt, one leg continued to move slightly; a faint tremor that McCoy spotted instantly.

 

“What the- what happened to you, Jim?” Bones demanded.  McCoy began running his medical scanner across Jim’s chest and then bent to run it across the captain’s shaking leg. 

 

S’eff stiffened as he registered a vibration under his feet.  He stood still; his body tensed and felt another faint tremor.  The hair on the back of his neck rose and he said softly, “Gentlemen – there is a Tyrannosaurus Rex approaching from the corridor behind us.  I suggest we run in the direction you came from.”

 

“Negative,” Spock replied immediately, his voice the calm tone of a Vulcan in an emergency.  “The captain cannot run.  I will not leave him.  And there are raptors pursuing us.”

 

“Well I’m sure as hell not leaving the two of you,” Bones blustered, “so…” He stopped speaking as he too felt a tremor pass under his foot.

 

 “Can you heal the captain?” S’eff inquired urgently.

 

“Now? Without a diagnosis? No,” McCoy snapped.  His eye suddenly caught and riveted to the unmistakable shadow of a T’Rex.  It was shifting its head and neck slightly left and then right.  Scenting for something?  Reluctantly he slowly turned his gaze to look back at the corridor the way they’d come.

 

“Your weapons?” Spock inquired, looking at the shotgun slung on S’eff’s shoulder and the pistol holstered at McCoy’s hip.

 

“Insufficient,” S’eff replied.  “Distraction only; the ammunition is designed for raptors and even then will be inadequate without a close range head and neck shot.”

 

With an effort, Spock refrained from asking why the weaponry was so inadequate and focused instead on identifying possibilities.  “What are the drive characteristics of Tyrannosaurs?” he asked, “Their primary motivations?  What is their preferred hunting methodology?”

 

Spock spoke as if the two Vulcan’s were alone in the room, calmly discussing a doctoral paper or perhaps some theoretical creature.  Only the terse vocabulary conveyed their urgency.

 

Jim struggled to keep quiet and just let Spock find a solution.  The times he had saved Spock’s life through sheer nerve, or luck or cunning were pretty equally matched by the times Spock had saved his by calm calculation of odds and possibilities.  And at the moment, Spock was the likelier hero.

 

McCoy swallowed.  The corridor angled, and while he couldn’t yet see the T’Rex, the shadow was moving – looming larger.  With each movement he could feel another tremor in the floor beneath their feet. A step, a shudder of the floor, another step, another vibration.  “S’eff…” he murmured thoughtlessly.

 

“Once focused on prey it is single-minded in pursuit and rarely diverted.  Excellent sense of smell, and eyesight, but poor hearing.  Scent used to locate large herds, and eyesight to focus on individual animals.”

 

“Intelligent?”

 

“Only moderately.”

 

“You are incapacitated, Captain,” Spock said rapidly, “I will assume command per our previous discussions.  You will follow my instructions.  Acknowledge.”  His voice was steady, but urgent. 

 

Kirk clenched his jaw and replied, “Agreed.”  Early in his captaincy they’d discussed this contingency; but he didn’t have to like it.

 

Spock’s gaze turned toward the T’Rex.  It was visible now and he watched it move step by deliberate step in their direction.  The ceiling barely gave the immense animal enough room to extend its head.  It nearly filled the corridor that S’eff and McCoy had so recently traversed.  Had it scented them?  Was it following them, or had the animal simply blundered into the Visitor’s Center? 

 

“Captain, Doctor, S’eff – move behind me,” Spock commanded.

 

Spock turned his head and pinned S’eff with a demanding gaze.  “If I am incapacitated, you will get the captain and the doctor to safety.  Acknowledge.”

 

Kirk felt his heart turning inside out.  Was he intending to decoy the T’Rex away from them?  “Spock,” Kirk gasped, “Don’t…”

 

S’eff met the steady eyes of the First Officer of the _Enterprise_ and wondered if all the crew were imbued with this same sense of heroism.  “Acknowledged,” he replied.  He moved out of the junction of the corridors and against the wall leading to the amphitheater, gesturing Leonard and the captain ahead of him, and then stood between the two humans.  He was prepared to lift and carry the captain for as long as Leonard could keep pace.  But despite his response to Spock, he knew that if he could only get one to safety, it would be _his_ human, and not Spock’s.

 

_Roooarrr!_

 

The T’Rex’s thunderous call reverberated and bounced off the ceiling, walls and floor.  McCoy barely managed to keep from clapping his hands over his ears.

 

 “Do not move now,” Spock ordered.  “It must get closer, and my task will be easier if…”

 

Kirk felt his heart start beating again.  Whatever Spock planned, it wasn’t to sacrifice himself.

 

The T’Rex posture changed, and the slow ponderous steps quickened.  It must have seen their earlier movement.  It was coming down the corridor now in decisive thundering steps.  The floor shook beneath them.

 

Bones paled and reached a hand to mingle his fingers with S’eff’s.  If they only had this one moment… S’eff’ curled his fingertips into Leonard’s hold.

 

Spock watched carefully and in spite of the Vulcan controls set firmly in place, his heart ratcheted up several beats as the T’Rex barreled toward them.  His timing must be precise.  At last when the T’Rex was two strides away, Spock sprinted into motion.  He jumped and grasped a temporary hold on the dinosaur’s raised foreleg, vaulted onto that, and leapt from there onto its short and ineffective arm. 

 

The T’Rex screamed, and swung its body and head to dislodge the invader.  Spock clung desperately and then reached, reached… and… attached his fingers against a warm scale/skin surface, just past the massive jaw filled with innumerable knife-like teeth.  Time seemed to still as he sought the psi points, and simultaneously fought down the fear of joining with a violent mind.  He pushed his mind carefully into the Tyrannosaurus. 

 

It was annoyed with the distraction of the small thing clinging to it.  It was ravenous, hunger clawing at the insides of its belly.  And there was a scent ahead – a scent similar to an earlier eating.  That small thing had been only a few bites, but delicious – full of liquid, with almost no bones.

 

Spock clamped down on his violent reaction to that taste of flesh, and pressed carefully deeper into its memories.  S’eff was correct, there was little intelligence here, mainly memory, impressions and needs; memories of hunger, of hunting, of eating, of hunger and of hunting again.  Then there – a memory of a good kill, a larger kill than the small thing.  Ambassador Fox was the small thing Spock realized – and fought nausea as he/it relived the memory of the taste and smell and feel of that small delicious sanguine bite filling its/his mouth and sliding down its/his throat.

 

“No!” Spock groaned.  Jim saw an expression of revulsion pass across Spock’s face as he clung against the T’Rex, his fingers somehow impossibly fastened now to the dinosaur’s temple.

 

_Screeeaaaaah!_

 

Jim tensed as a Velociraptor call reverberated down the corridors.

 

_Scraaahh!  Skiiiiee!_   A series of shorter calls sounded even closer.

 

S’eff reached for the captain.  Hazel eyes met his. “Don’t make me leave him,” Kirk said.

 

There was a look in those eyes that gave S’eff pause.  It was nearly twin to the look Spock had given him while demanding that he protect the others.  There was something more to these two than mere captain and first officer.  Would Leonard look like that if Spock tried to leave S’eff behind?  Perhaps not.  They didn’t have years of companionship, trust and conviction behind them.  Not yet.  S’eff opened the shotgun so the captain could see the shells already loaded in the chamber, and presented it.  Kirk’s eyes and face lit in appreciation as he reached out to grasp the firearm with both hands and said, “Thank you.”  S’eff released the firearm and the captain snapped the chamber closed. 

 

Beside him Bones had been silently and rapidly loading his pistol.  The doctor knew he would have time for only one shot; his best odds of killing a raptor would be to use S’eff’s strategy.

 

Spock dimly heard the first raptor scream, and resolutely turned the T’Rex’s memory back to the earlier meal of the larger dinosaur and then overlaid that memory with the scent of the raptors that still lingered on the Vulcan’s hands. Perhaps the scent was one the T’Rex would recognize.

 

Jim, S’eff and Bones froze against the wall as the T’Rex lowered its head and swung it; the unblinking eyes moving to them, on them and then past them and to the junction of the corridor.  It sniffed loudly.

 

_Screeeaaah!  Saa seeeann!_   The shrill screeches of the raptors became abruptly louder as they stepped into the hall.  Their eyes fastened onto the three humanoids and their tails whipped in excitement.

 

The T’Rex’s head snapped left as its eyes followed the movement of the smaller dinosaurs.  It inhaled, filling its nostrils with the scent of its prey.  It roared, twisted its body rapidly and lunged for the nearest one.

 

Spock barely disengaged in time.  He slid off the T’Rex and landed awkwardly in a sprawl on the floor.  He looked up to see it pass by S’eff where he was bracketed on one side by the Captain sighting a shouldered shotgun at the Velociraptors, and on the other side by the doctor holding a pistol in a two-handed white-knuckled grip.

 

The T’Rex missed with its first lunge, but twisted its head in a blur of movement and grasped the second raptor’s torso in its jaws and shook it violently.  The first one screamed a protest, raked a vicious taloned hand along the T’Rex’s flank and bit a chunk of flesh from its side.

 

The T’Rex screamed, dropped the first raptor and wheeled on the second.

 

The uninjured Velociraptor turned and fled down the corridor.  The T’Rex chased after it, the floor shaking with the violence of their movements.

 

S’eff was the first to move in the new silence.  He stepped nearer to the wounded Velociraptor.  It was bloody and mangled, pieces of intestine dangling from its ripped abdomen.  Blood was bubbling from the partially open mouth as the chest heaved unevenly.  The eyes glared at him in malice.

 

Spock stepped over to S’eff and two sets of Vulcan eyes met in agreement.  S’eff kneeled and put a hand to the raptor’s temple.

 

It feebly struck at him but Spock grasped the limb and restrained its movement.  S’eff bent his head, closed his eyes, and his body stilled and tensed with effort.

 

Slowly the light dimmed in the raptor’s eyes.  The lids closed, and Spock grasped and pulled S’eff’s hand away as the Velociraptor’s head slumped and thumped to the ground.

 

S’eff shuddered and let Spock support him as he rose back to his feet.

 

“Sentient,” he said into the still air.

 

“Yes,” Spock said calmly.

 

Spock turned to meet Jim’s eyes.  There was just one shared moment of thankfulness, and then Spock said smoothly, “Captain, I believe the current crisis has been averted.  I await your command.”

 

Kirk quizzed him with his eyes but said easily, “Gentlemen, shall we all proceed to the lab?  It ought to be predator-proof now that the power’s back on – and I think we can all use a breather.”

 

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” McCoy said and went to the captain’s side to resume scanning and prodding, and spraying, and-

 

“Dammit, Bones,” Kirk complained, “Can’t that wait until we get there, so I can lay down?  I twitch every time you hypo me.”

 

“It is now only twelve point three seven meters ahead of us,” Spock said calmly.  McCoy shrugged and shouldered his medkit, but walked behind Jim the rest of the way, almost as if he expected him to collapse before they got there.

 

At the lab door Spock typed in ‘Password’.  The humans heaved a sigh of relief as the lab doors opened and they all filed in.  Spock closed and relocked the doors.

 

The captain walked unsteadily to an empty table and boosted himself up onto it, but it clearly took the last of his strength; he wobbled as he immediately lay down and closed his eyes.  Spock watched with scarcely masked concern as the doctor moved to the table and worked swiftly to make the captain more comfortable.  “Now this is a combination muscle relaxant and mild sedative, Jim.”  His eye on the hand scanner he frowned and asked belligerently, “What the hell happened; these readings aren’t consistent with physical...”

 

“The captain was thrown off an electrical fence when the power was restored,” Spock interjected.  “The charge appeared to have stopped his breathing and I administered pulmonary resuscitation until he began breathing again on his own.”

 

McCoy looked at him in horror – “ _I_ turned the power back on!”

 

“I have observed an uncharacteristic mildness in his behavior, an impaired balance, and reduced function in his right side,” Spock said tersely.

 

“And my head hurts,” Kirk said – eyes still closed.

 

“Oh, well if that’s all,” Bones huffed sarcastically.  He took in Jim’s pallor and Spock’s unblinking eyes and said, “It’s okay – I can fix it.  He’ll be _fine_ , Spock.  I’ll want to run a full diagnostic when we’re back on the ship to make sure I catch any subcellular damage that might impair complete healing – and the sooner I can do that the better, but the muscle and nerve fiber damage I can fix now.”  McCoy paused and then shot a last question to Spock, “How long were you breathing for him?”

 

“Seven point two three seconds,” Spock replied.

 

“Ok, good, not long then.”

 

Spock resisted the impulse to correct the doctor.  He knew that for the foreseeable future, he would quite illogically remember those seven point two three seconds, as lasting entirely too long.

 

##

 

Scotty tilted his head to look at the interphase test controls he’d wired into the chair and fingered his chin.  At warp eight they’d be nearly two days getting back to Denaris V.  But just last week he’d completed this build of a test delivery system to allow him to attempt an interphase warp.  In principal it was just a quick acceleration to warp nine – just a boost, followed by a drop back to eight before nine began to falter, then another brief acceleration to nine, and another drop back.  In theory that repeating pattern would result in a speed somewhat greater than eight, and somewhat less than nine, and might be sustainable for longer than a single cruise at warp nine for the same total duration as the summed ‘boosts’. 

 

The problem of course was the intermix formula.  That had to be manged within very tight tolerances and since they were quite different for each warp stage, the intemix had to be constantly adjusted and precisely controlled as it was delivered to the engines.  Getting that wrong would either grind the engines to a halt, or explode them. 

 

Tricky, very tricky – but it could be done – and he now had the control start right beneath his fingers.  If only there were something more than the itch between his shoulder blades telling him the lads needed him, he’d push that button.  But the captain would be none too pleased to have his ship risked for no reason – particularly if they had the situation well in hand...

 

“Uhura, anything?”

 

“No, sir.”

 

Scotty scowled.  That itch between his shoulder blades was getting stronger.

 

##

 

Captain Kirk swung his legs briskly over the side of the table and hopped off.  He ran his hands with satisfaction down his sides, tugged down his uniform shirt and grinned at Bones.  “I feel great Bones – you’re a miracle-worker!”

 

“Yeah, well, you were only mostly dead, Jim.”

 

Spock tilted an eyebrow at that, but left the comment alone.

 

“So gentlemen,” Kirk said, looking at both McCoy and S’eff, “Fill me in – we’ve got power back, how about communications?”

 

“Not yet, Jim.  Once the first satellite passes thru a land-based transmitter here, that will reconnect the system with all the satellites.  That’s supposed to happen in about…”

 

 “Twenty point six three minutes,” S’eff finished.

 

“Alright then, gentlemen, let’s go,” Kirk said.

 

“Captain,” S’eff said.

 

Kirk turned and looked impatiently at the Vulcan who somehow just didn’t come off nearly as… as _Vulcan_ as Spock did.

 

“Once the control center is back in communication with the satellites, you may be able to program a connection to the orbital mainframes and use those to boost a signal to your ship,” S’eff stated.

 

“Ok, we can give that a try when we-”

 

“With your permission, I would like Dr. McCoy to remain here with me so that we may-” he paused briefly and glanced over at Leonard whose eyes had widened with something approximating alarm.  “-come to an understanding,” S’eff finished with a faint smile.  “We can rejoin you in the control center shortly.”

 

“What?  No – we should stick-”

 

“Captain,” Spock interjected.

 

“What?” Kirk replied, frowning.

 

Spock just looked at him.  Jim looked back.  With nothing but the steadfastness of his eyes, Spock conveyed a message.   Finally the captain said, “Very well, Spock, I trust you will explain it to my satisfaction later.”

 

“I must inform you, Sir, that it may not be possible to provide you with an explanation,” an austere Mr. Spock replied formally.

 

Kirk frowned some more and then looked at S’eff.  _It must be some damn secular Vulcan thing,_ he thought, _that humans aren’t allowed to…_ Then just beyond S’eff’s shoulder he noticed a very quiet Dr. McCoy studying something in his scanner.  A _very_ quiet Dr. McCoy.

 

Kirk stared with disbelief as an incredible supposition formed.  He turned his gaze on S’eff in speculation.  _He_ however was looking at Spock in silent thanks.  Kirk brought his eyes to Spock’s again and raised a rounded brow in inquiry.  Rather tellingly, Spock shifted his gaze to the vicinity of Jim’s ear.

 

_Well, well, well.  Life was certainly getting very interesting…_

“S’eff, McCoy, two hours,” Kirk said brusquely, “And then I want you back at the Control Center.”             

 

##

 

With the exit of the captain and his first officer from the lab, S’eff crossed the room to Leonard, removed the scanner from his soon-to-be-lover’s hands and placed it on the table.  The doctor looked up at him hesitantly.  “I must tell you something about myself, Leonard,” S’eff said and pulled the doctor to him.   Leonard came willingly, but tension lingered in the arms that he held just a little stiffly against his sides.

 

“I am what Vulcan’s call vravshaya awek’mnu. It has been used figuratively over the ages as an insult, but I am _literally_ literally vravshaya awek’mnu.  It means one who is not capable of blocking emotive content that is broadcast by sentient beings.  This is the exact opposite of esper-blindness, which is the inability to receive thoughts or feelings of another telepath or empath.

 

“Do you mean you read thoughts all the time?” McCoy asked. 

 

“No – it is generally only the emotive content that I receive, although if a thought is highly emotive, I may be able to guess quite accurately at what thought accompanies the feeling.  And I usually still need to be in physical contact to receive those feelings.”

 

“It is the reason, Leonard,” S’eff continued, “that I knew so quickly of your attraction to me.  An attraction that you may have noticed is quite fully returned.” And he bent to take the doctor’s lips in a gentle kiss.

 

Without warning Leonard felt a surge of lust pulse through him.  Strong and powerful, it brought his senses alive.  S’eff’s hands that had been resting lightly on his hips, tightened and the Vulcan drew him even closer, until their thighs were brushing together.   Leonard pulled his lips away for a moment to catch his breath, and asked, “Was that you?”

 

“No, Leonard,” S’eff said, his eyes bright with anticipation, and something else; tenderness?  “That was _you_.  Our chemistry is potent.”

 

“That must be hard for you,” McCoy said somewhat breathlessly as S’eff slid his hands under the hem of the doctor’s shirt and began to smooth his fingertips up McCoy’s skin.

 

“Hmmm?” S’eff murmured as he luxuriated in the feel of the doctor’s soft springy hair teasing the nerve ending on the tips of his fingers.

 

“Feeling – ah – feeling everyone’s emotions.  On Vulcan.  As you…”  Bones hissed as an exploring finger brushed against one of his nipples, “were growing up.”

 

“Leonard,” S’eff asked, “I think we can discuss this some other time.  But I wished you to know I understand that you have certain needs.”

 

“Oh, unh,” Leonard swallowed as S’eff bent his head and licked a line into the indent of his belly button and swirled his tongue there.  “Oh, unh, yeah,” Leonard said.

 

Suddenly eager, Leonard pulled back and stripped his shirt off and reached for S’eff’s shirt, but then paused to ask huskily, “May I undress you?”

 

S’eff nodded an agreement and added, “You may do anything you wish with me, Leonard.”

 

McCoy felt his body heat with that invitation, and with hands that suddenly trembled with anticipation, he fumbled with the old-fashioned clasps at the bottom of S’eff’s shirt.

 

S’eff moved his own hands to the clasps at the top and had all of those remaining undone by the time McCoy finished with the one at the bottom.  S’eff’s warm fingers covered the backs of McCoy’s hands, and then he moved them up through the opening of his shirt to press them to his collar bones.

 

S’eff leaned forward and kissed Leonard again.  “I like this kissing,” S’eff said.  “I can feel your excitement not only with your touch, but with your breaths.  You are awakening to me.”

 

McCoy’s hands clung briefly for support to the hot skin covering the Vulcan’s shoulders, and then shivered as S’eff’s lips left his.  Now able to move again, Leonard roughly shoved the shirt over those shoulders, off the well-muscled arms and then pulled it down and tossed it away.

 

There was that gorgeous chest he’d lusted over so unexpectedly.  Not since his intern days had he been so turned on by a patient’s body.  He thought he’d trained that out of himself.  Eyes bright with passion and anticipation, Leonard grasped S’eff’s hips and drew him close, rubbed their torsos together until he was panting, and then with the little breath he had left he kissed the broad sweaty throat and nibbled at the taut tendon covered with salty skin.

 

S’eff closed his eyes.  _Fortunate_ he thought.  _Fortunate that I am vravshaya awek’mnu and practiced in absorbing the onslaught of other-emotion.  Or this would overwhelm me.  He is_ so _passionate!_ S’eff felt his body rousing to Leonard’s excitement. 

 

“Kiss me again,” Leonard murmured, “but open your mouth to me.”  McCoy felt his own words making him even hotter.  The anticipation of plunging his tongue between those lush lips – so like and yet so completely unlike Spock, was making his nipples peak and his cock swell.

 

S’eff lowered his head again, and McCoy thrust his tongue with no preliminaries into the moist cavern.  _Ah, hot, incredibly hot, and wet and smooth, and oh!_

 

McCoy nearly moaned aloud as S’eff picked up on his unspoken need and began sucking, first gently and then harder and more demandingly on his tongue.  McCoy wrapped his arms tight around the Vulcan and massaged the hard muscles of his back as Leonard felt his body melting into the greater heat.  His nipples were contracted so tightly that the pleasure was almost pain.

 

S’eff released the human’s tongue and following the need, kissed the human’s throat, sucked with wet kisses a line to a nipple and enveloped it in the same wet, hot sensation that had favored Leonard’s tongue.

 

McCoy moaned, and S’eff’s cock thrummed with kindled desire.   S’eff suckled, moved both hands to reach and press the rounded mounds of Leonard’s buttocks, and pulled them upward and inward to run their clothed cocks together.  With that action, he felt a rising distress running through Leonard’s emotions.  Uncertain what that meant, he stopped for a moment, and pulled back to look into the human’s face.

 

Every inch was flushed pink.  His eyes were huge and wet with passion, his chest was heaving as if he’d been running, and his mouth was hanging open – warm, wet gusts of breath hitting S’eff’s shoulder and neck.

 

McCoy looked into those wondering Vulcan eyes and stuttered, “Pants!  Get them off – now!”

 

A canted Vulcan eyebrow made the human bite his lip, but McCoy put his hands to the waistband of his own pants and pushed them off.

 

S’eff’s joined the pile on the floor.  Leonard reached a hand to grasp the Vulcan penis, and held back a moan of satisfaction and lust when he felt that hot silky sheath in his hand.  It was stiff and full, like an erect human cock, but that didn’t mean...  _There was so damn little in the literature_ , he mourned.  He stroked it, slid it within his palm and then leaned and rested his forehead against the Vulcan’s chest and fought for control.

 

“S’eff, I’m sorry – I’m damn close already.  What can I do to catch you up to me?” the doctor asked.

 

“Leonard, I will be ready when you are.”

 

“No, damn it, I don’t want you just ready, I want you out of control with it – I want you _filled_ with pleasure!” McCoy gritted out.   _Oh, that smooth silky skin_ … he thought as he continued to slide the palm of his hand against the Vulcan cock.  _I’d like to taste you…_

 

“Then do, Leonard, “S’eff said, his eyes glinting with amusement and desire.  “Taste me.”

 

McCoy looked up as S’eff began speaking, and as the words ‘Taste me’ formed on those lips, he sunk to his knees, closed his eyes and fervently wrapped his lips around that delicious-looking cock.

 

S’eff’s eyes suddenly flew open in shock.  He’d been so absorbed by Leonard’s emotions he had paid little attention to his own body’s responses.  The doctor’s gentle touch on his cock had been vaguely processed as pleasant.  But now, now Leonard’s lips and tongue and mouth’s interior were surrounding it with cool pressure.  Without volition he canted his hips upward, making himself more accessible.

 

McCoy sucked and licked and slurped and luxuriated in the texture and taste of that salty Vulcan cock.  It was filling in his mouth, expanding and pulsing.  The jerk of S’eff’s hips told Leonard more than any words that he actually had a chance of pushing him out of control with pleasure.  He wrapped his hands around muscled thighs and then gripped the hot rounded cheeks of the Vulcan’s ass and began sucking and compressing that cock more urgently.  He created a rhythm and then, exultantly tasted something new. 

 

S’eff felt Leonard’s hands clench his buttocks and a surge of pleasure suffused his whole body.  The desire and intensity of want radiating from Leonard combined with the almost intolerable pleasure of his mouth compressing his cock.  The pleasure kept building and involuntarily he bucked his hips, plunging his cock into McCoy’s mouth.

 

Bones rejoiced as S’eff began to thrust into his mouth.  He released his throat muscles and took more of the Vulcan, deeper, deeper…

 

A trembling rumble seemed to be coming from somewhere in the Vulcan’s body and then Leonard heard a soft inhale.  The Vulcan’s body abruptly stilled for a moment and then S’eff’s voice moaned, “Leonard!” and the Vulcan’s body trembled and vibrated as his cock spilled cool cum and seed into the doctor’s throat.  Leonard tried to keep up, but it was almost impossible, surge after surge of creamy liquid spilled into his mouth.  He swallowed hard again and again.  After long moments, S’eff stilled again; his back was still rigid and his buttocks were clenched.  His cock lay finally quiescent, but still half erect in Bones mouth.

 

McCoy pulled gently off, and rose to his feet.  He wrapped his arms around the Vulcan and looked into S’eff’s eyes.  “Okay?” he asked softly. 

 

S’eff looked at the human.  _So… giving.  So loving.  Unselfish._ The Vulcan flushed as he realized that he had indeed lost all physical control.  His embarrassment at that warred with the satisfaction he’d felt from the human.  Leonard’s greatest desire had been to please the Vulcan.  _Unselfish,_ S’eff thought again.

 

“Yes,” S’eff responded, and kissed his human.  He wrapped a long-fingered hand around the back of the doctor’s head and leaned down to take another kiss from him.  Then carefully taking his cues from the pleasure radiating from his lover, he proceeded to reciprocate in full, until Leonard was clutching frantically at his head while S’eff used lips and tongue to tease the thick and rigid cock with licks and kisses.  At the first drop of cum beaded up on the tip of the glans, S’eff licked it clean and then raised his eyes and said huskily, Leonard – you taste – delicious.”

 

McCoy’s chest heaved and his stomach clenched.  He fisted his hands in S’eff’s glorious hair and asked urgently, “Now?  Take me now?”

 

S’eff’s eyes smiled into his before he responded, “Yes, now, Leonard.  I want to taste more of you.  Teach me the rhythm you like.”

 

Leonard moaned at the first exquisite feel of S’eff’s mouth taking him in.  The sexiness of S’eff’s words and the tremendous wet heat surrounding his cock was already enough to make him buck unsteadily.  A pair of firm hot hands came up to grasp his thighs just beneath his ass, steadying him.  McCoy sighed with pleasure at that support and then began to pump in quick short thrusts.  He looked down to see his hands still fisted in the Vulcan’s dark hair, his cock moving smoothly in and out of the flushed olive lips.  S’eff’s eyes were closed as his head bobbed easily back and forth. 

 

Leonard panted with excitement and pulled and pushed that gorgeous head more fully onto his erection.  The feel of his cock hitting the back of the Vulcan’s throat made him moan, and then suddenly he was coming.  He bucked violently forward and back for several more stokes while S’eff smoothly swallowed the bursts of cum.  Surge after surge of pleasure rocketed through Leonard, and he stood tensely through it all until finally the last tremors faded.  Mindlessly he ran his fingers again and again through S’eff’s silky hair.  S’eff slowly released him, and then pressed a kiss to Leonard’s relaxed cock before resting his head against his lover’s belly.  Leonard looked down, smiled, and with affection and new tenderness gently trailed a fingertip along the line of an elegant ear.   

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
> 
> Please leave a review on your way out.  (Bones wants to know how he did).


	15. Part 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize that the final part comes so late after the last installment. There was a last-minute drop out among our participants for real life issues and I, amidst my recently ridiculous schedule, had trouble finding time to writing the final chapter.   
>   
> To all of you who were brave enough to read this collaborative, unholy union of a mashup--thank you very much, from all of us involved, for your comments and interest. Hope to see you at the next one! :) 
> 
>  
> 
> XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

_Part 14 by Pamdizzle_

 

“In case you were wondering, Jones,” Captain Kirk said as he barged into the control room, sweating, bleeding and half out of his uniform, “my official recommendation will be to shut this place down as soon as possible.”

Cyrano, wide-eyed and panicked, sputtered, “But the animals—”

“Will be removed from their current confines and monitored remotely from the star station above by a team of highly-trained xeno-zoologists,” Commander Spock interrupted. “InGen is, for the foreseeable future, under review and reprimand by the Federation. And also, quite bankrupt.”

Jones weakly took his seat by the monitoring console, all eyes on his crumpled from as he buried his head in his hands. “All I wanted was to share something amazing with the rest of the galaxy…I…spared no expense…”

T’Pring stepped forward and placed a hand on the human’s shoulder, “All you will prove is that our employer had nothing to do with the mishaps which befell you and your crew, Captain Kirk. The park was clearly sabotaged by a disgruntled employee.”

“Be that as it may,” Spock intoned, “the lack of security protocol as pointed out at the start of our inspection was below standard and ultimately the reason for which Mister Mitchell was able to easily cause…” he gestured to the monitors which now showed the destruction evident throughout the various areas of the park and the vistor’s center, “all of this.”

T’Pring seemed to very nearly avoid snarling at Spock. “He is innocent. The security measures were left as such to ensure ease of access for this very inspection. We removed encryption and relaxed the access codes for all doors to make it more convenient for _Starfleet’s personnel_ to move about—”

“If that is true, then Mister Jones should have specified this when we arrived—”

“Please excuse my interruption,” S’eff’s voice sounded from the door as he and an exhausted McCoy entered the room, “however, what T’Pring says is true. We were given explicit orders from the aAmiral in charge of commissioning Ambassador’s Fox’s inspection that all security protocol was to be adjusted to the given specifications. We were informed that you and your team would be made aware of these arrangements.”

Jim shared a look with his First Officer and CMO, then said, “Your reaction to our inquiries weren’t defensive when we brought it up—why?”

“I told you everything would be in place on opening day,” Jones argued. “I thought you were just being…well, frankly, an asshole. Captain…sir. Besides, there was so much I had planned to show all of you, I figured you must have overlooked the missive or ignored it or something. It isn’t my job to make sure you read your…whatever they’re called—”

“Mission briefs,” T’Pring supplied.

“Yes, those,” Cyrano nodded. “I figured you’d get back to your ship and see them when you started writing your report. Of course, I thought by then you would have seen the park and been impressed enough to approve it.”

“If there is anyone at fault for the lack of security protocol which eased Gary Mitchell’s sabotage of our operation, it is Starfleet—not us,” T’Pring added.

“Yes! What she said! T’Pring’s a Vulcan, she can’t lie!” Cyrano excitedly pointed out, “She’ll testify on my behalf—”

“Listen here,” McCoy finally snapped, “you employed the same lowbrow tactics that granted you prison time after our first run-in, and I’m more than damned sure you falsified documentation and records to secure funding from the Federation to build this place and ‘create’ these animals. I’m sorry to point out, that faulty security protocol is the least of your worries!” The doctor took in the pudgy man’s expression of tight-lipped humility, and then added, “What you’ve done here _is_ …amazing. And I believe you were genuine, in your ambition to bring this place to life…just as genuine as your willingness to profit from it at any cost.

“These animals are here now, and it’s obvious they’re here to stay. But the park you’ve built around them—these confines—they have to go. You can’t just stuff these creature into a package and slap a price on ‘em. At the very least, you can console yourself with the knowledge that you gave an extinct life form a second chance at existence.”

Cyrano hung his head and nodded minutely. He glanced at S’eff, T’Pring and DeSalle, “You’ll see that my employees are not charged? They’ve done nothing wrong. Not that I’m admitting to anything untoward, mind you, but—”

Spock and Jim shared another glance and a slight nod. “I am certain their presumed innocence will be handled justly,” the Commander intoned.

“And I’m certain their expertise will be needed to assist in handling the fallout from this endeavor,” Kirk added. “Now, as for getting in touch with the—”

“Enterprise to Park Control,” Scotty’s voice boomed from the console, filling the small room. Jim fairly leapt to the panel.

“Scotty!” Jim exclaimed. “It’s damned good to hear from you!”

“Sir,” Scotty’s voice sounded relieved, but there was a definite undertone of urgency, “it’s good to hear your voice as well. We’ve been havin’ a bit of an int’resting trip ‘round th’way.”

“Is that so?” Kirk looked over his shoulder to see four interested gazes directed at the console. “When can you be back in orbit?’

***

“That’s absurd!” Cyrano Jones shook his head emphatically. “BioSyn is our chief rival! What connection could there possibly be between our companies aside from Gary?! I-if someone were selling secrets before him, they’d have already challenged our patents!”

“Did you know about Mister Mitchell’s defection to BioSyn?” Kirk questioned.

“Of course not, I—”

“Then how can you be certain—”

“My employees were all vetted before joining the project, they’re the most competent in their fields and honest in their endeavors; their psych evals speak for themselves!” Cyrano argued the point. His face was red and his breathing labored, obviously on the verge of some kind of physical meltdown.

McCcoy, watching the exchange from his position at the far end of the table, pulled a hypo from his medkit and filled it with something from his bag. “Did you trust Gary?” the doctor chimed in, standing and crossing the conference room toward Jones. “Did he come highly recommended?”

“Of course not!” Jones denied vehemently, “I _needed_ Gary. He was the only one with the skills required available to fill the position. I paid him a king’s ransom too—but he was never satisfied! I had intended to cut him loose when DeSalle’s training on the system interface was completed.”

Bones lifted his tricorder to run readings on the chubby man seated at the table. All eyes were on him now as he raised the hypo the man’s neck. “Your blood pressure is elevated—”

“I’m not surprised!”

“—is your heart rate.” Bones raised his hypo to the man’s red-splotched neck and decompressed it with less bedside manner than a CNA-in-training. Cyrano jumped and immediately began running a soothing hand over his neck. McCoy ignored him, “That was a salicylate compound. Should help prevent the onset of what would surely have been a debilitating arrest.”

“Yes, for Godsake’s, settle down,” Jim added, rubbing his throbbing temples. They’d only been back on the ship for a few hours, and while he’d managed to get in a few winks of sleep as they waited for the _Enterprise_ to reach orbit as wells as a quick shower and fresh change of uniform, the past few days were quickly catching up with him. Bones and Chapel had patched them all up once they’d returned, but Jim’s side was still twinging at the start of any sudden movements or deep inhalations. He knew they were all still a bit worse for wear, but this debrief was time sensitive.

The doors to the room opened with an ungodly hiss—Jim had never, before now, realized just how loud that hiss could be—as Spock, alongside Lieutenant Commander Scott, strode across the threshold. “Captain,” Spock addressed, his voice carefully quieter than usual which made Jim’s chest clench just a bit. It wasn’t that the Vulcan hadn’t always been this solicitous to his foul moods, but that it made Jim realize just how long they’d been dancing around the motivations for such considerations.

“Commander,” he returned, “Mister Scott.” The door opened again and Jim barely restrained a flinch. “And Mister Chekov.”

“Keptin,” the young man nodded, his brows drawn tight as they always were when Chekov was considering something troubling.

He heaved a resigned sigh. “Alright gentlemen, what have you got for us?”

Scotty nodded and flipped on the viewer, which immediately displayed several photos of a very large mining encampment. “A hell of a lot, sair, m’afraid. Comm’nder Spock and Ensign Chekov finally managed to decode that last message we briefed you on this morning. I don’t think _any_ of you sittin’ here is goin’ t’like what we found.”

\--

Hours later, Jim lay in bed proof reading his final report. Cyrano Jones and the heads of each key department of the Jurassic Park project were currently aboard and being transported to a rendezvous point with the USS Potemkin. They would be ferried to Starfleet headquarters in San Francisco where they would attend a hearing to determine the guilt or innocence of several people involved in what could be the biggest illegal mining operation this side of the galaxy.

“It would seem that Cyranos’ luck, as you call it, has not yet expired since our prior meeting,” Spock commented as he sat on the bed and peered over Jim’s shoulder at the report.

Jim chuckled lowly and then promptly yawned. “Apparently not,” he conceded. The missive, which Jones had received about the security protocols but Kirk had not, had been sent by none other than Admiral Komack himself. Given that the Admiral was responsible for both sets of instructions forwarded to Jurassic Park and the _Enterprise_ regarding the inspection, it was highly questionable that the _Enterprise’s_ mission brief had been missing key points regarding the security settings in place during their time on the planet.

Not to mention that sending instructions for compliance to an institution under investigation was against regulation. Inspections were required to be made with as little variation on daily operations as possible. Komack having forwarded special instructions to ‘assist in the facilitation of Starfleet personnel’ was already one strike against the Admiral. The fact that he sent the missive, encrypted and from a secure channel, to Jurassic Park from the same Interstellar Protocol address as the one used by the mysterious ‘Mr. Smith’ to and from BioSyn…well, demotion would be the least of the man’s worries over the next few weeks.

“He’ll be a star witness if it comes to a trail,” Jim added, setting his report aside.

“Indeed,” Spock agreed as he shifted to lay on his recently claimed side of the Captain’s bed. For a moment they were both silent, each internally chasing their own train of thoughts. Eventually, Spock broke the silence. “Do you believe Jurassic Park would have been successful had there not been an accident, that it otherwise could have been a viable asset to the Federation?”

“You mean if Komack hadn’t pulled his, or ‘Mister Smith’s’, financial backing from InGen to fund BioSyn?” Jim shrugged and scooted down from the headboard so he could rest his head on his beloved pillow. “I doubt it. The entire endeavor was being funded by profits from an illegal mining operation the likes of which the Federation hasn’t seen in years. Jones would have been implicated one way or another—he was well on his way to being the galaxy’s biggest patsy.”

“Another example of Mister Jones’ fortunate circumstances,” Spock intoned. He then added, “In fact, I find that I myself have been experiencing an illogical sense of gratitude for those circumstances.”

“Is that so?” Jim allowed a sleepy smile to part his lips as he rolled over to face the Vulcan beside him. It was the most natural thing, the easiest of motions, to lean over and press their lips together—to kiss Spock. Lovers. That’s what they were now. He pulled away slowly, his eye lids opening lazily, “Me too, Mister Spock, me too.” Then he added, thinking of Bones and the latest Vulcan Starfleet recruit, “I’m pretty sure we’re not the only ones.”

Spock arched a brow and nodded, “I should think not.”

“What do you suppose the odds are, nine months from now, we get a new rotating Ensign assigned to Life Sciences?”

“Very high, sir,” Spock replied with the tiniest up curve of his lips.

“Hmmm,” he hummed contently. “What do you think will become of the dinosaurs?”

Spock, ever full of surprises, tugged Jim closer and buried his nose in his hair, inhaling deeply before responding. “Vulcans are not given to vague statements of prophetic quality, however…” Spock paused for a moment, then, “in light of recent events, and _certainly_ with the assistance of xeno-biologists…”

“…yes?” Jim prompted.  
  
“…I believe that life will, inevitably, find a way.”

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for the Jurassic Park Round Robin! I hope you've all had fun reading and that you'll do us a solid by leaving feedback! Thanks for checking it out and, if you made it this far, for sticking with it. :) 
> 
> If you're a Kirk/Spock author, and think you might be interested in joining in on the next Round Robin, please contact me (Pamdizzle) or put something about it in your review. Thanks!


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